


The Valentine Affair

by ideasCornucopia



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst and Humor, Banter, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Mildly Inspired by The Man from Uncle, Mission Fic, Multi, Mystery, Strangers to Lovers, Trans Julian Bashir, Trans Male Character, friendships, lots of banter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29457987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideasCornucopia/pseuds/ideasCornucopia
Summary: “Lursa and B'Etor?" Agent Dax asks. "They are part of the now dishonored House of Duras- The Klingons consider them an orange level threat, at best.”“Well, they’ve become a red level one now,” Admiral Sisko informs them, leaning into his table. “They somehow found someone that can supply them with Kessar warheads.”  Garak’s entire face darkens. He's seen what those things can do."So now you see why this mission is so important. Agent Bashir has done his job with the target and he’s now willing to turn to our side.” Garak grits his teeth. “Your job, on the other hand, is to find out who’s insane enough to supply such weapons of mass destruction to the sisters, and make sure not a single one of them makes it into their hands.”Or in which Dax and Garak are spies, Bashir has to seduce Quark, Kira can’t catch a break, and the whole affair is more than meets the eye.
Relationships: (mentioned) past Kira Nerys/Ro Laren, Jadzia Dax/Kira Nerys, Julian Bashir & Jadzia Dax & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir & Quark, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Kira Nerys & Odo, Odo/Quark (Star Trek)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17
Collections: Star Trek Valentine's Bang 2021





	1. No Rest for the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Star Trek Valentine's Bang 2021! Huge thanks to the talented [ GalacticTurnip ](https://galacticturnip-art.tumblr.com/) for the amazing [ illustration ](https://galacticturnip-art.tumblr.com/post/643209305594740736/httpsarchiveofourownorgworks29457987chapters) , and the wonderful [ Sasa_Q ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasa_Q/pseuds/Sasa_Q) for betaing this story.

“The Akmar faction has gathered important information on just what the Romulan dealings were in the Japori sector,” Admiral Sisko had explained. “They’re willing to share it with Starfleet Intelligence in exchange for more mining permits in that area.”

That came to no surprise to anyone. The Akmarians had been trying to establish a mining colony in that sector for years. 

“You are sending me for a preliminary meeting with them to discuss the terms, aren’t you?” Agent Jadzia Dax asked.

“Of course we are,” Sisko answered. “Curzon helped direct the talks that granted the faction some of those permits in the first place. Also, you’re the only one who’s even remotely familiar with anything about the mining industry.”

Lela had been passionate about it, what could she say?

“I don’t know if I can go, though,” the Trill said. “Julian and Garak have to infiltrate that scenic arts award ceremony, and the mission requires someone that can pose as some kind of artist.” 

The team had been preparing for that mission for weeks- it wouldn’t feel right to drop out on her partners like that.

“It’s bad luck when we get separated,” Jadzia was always saying, although Garak and Julian dismissed the notion with different degrees of insistence. 

Ben found it amusing on a good day, and annoying on occasions where he needed them to go on solo missions. “Bashir and Garak are trained agents with years of experience, just like you are, old man.” he repeated, for the third time this week. “They can handle the affair by themselves.” 

Jadzia still didn’t look convinced. 

Sisko sighed. “Okay, we’ll send Worf with them. He’s always wanted to be an opera singer for a mission, anyway.”

And so Jadzia had met with the Akmarian leader and settled down on an agreement that was deeply satisfying for both parties. The leader was sharing a glass of Calderian wine with her, as they lounged in their luxurious quarters, when Jadzia received the call.

“Our cover has been blown! Agent Bashir has been stabbed!” a very panicked Worf was saying into the com. “We require immediate assistance, I repeat, we require immediate assistance!”

The leader had stared at Jadzia’s com badge with furrowed brows. “Are those the partners you’ve told me so much about?”

Jadzia sighed. “Yes, they are,” She set her cup down on the table gently, putting her jacket back on. “I am sorry, Teraan, but it appears that I have to leave immediately.”

The leader pouted, disappointed. They had touched her hand, their palms facing, a gesture between lovers in Akmarian culture. “Will you ever come back to this system, my lovely?” they asked, in that honeyed voice that had drawn Jadzia to them, right from the start.

Jadzia squeezed their hand. “Perhaps.” she replied, leaning to kiss Teraan’s hand. The Akmarian smiled sadly, for they both knew she was probably lying.

And so, here’s Jadzia now, in a runabout orbiting Imaga IV on the Risa sector. While the Federation at large still doesn’t have cloaking devices, Starfleet Intelligence builds their ships with a signal beacon that projects a code into enemies’ sensors that generates a similar effect. It works quite well, and Dax would know. Tobin had perfected the model, after all.

Jadzia types into the pilot’s console, and turns her chair around, waiting. After a couple of seconds, a bright light appears, and Agent Worf has beamed up into the runabout.

Worf seems shocked at first. He’s holding up a phaser, while he looks around, relaxing when he notices where he is. Jadzia inspects him, wincing. His formal Klingon robes are torned and covered in dirt, there’s blood on his right shoulder, and gashes on his torso. He’s fine though; Jadzia knows it’d take more than that to keep the Klingon down.

“Agent Dax,” he says, a little breathless. He must have been running for his life, Jadzia assumes. “I see someone received my distress signal.”

“Be glad it was me,” Jadzia goes toward him, taking him to one of the chairs. “Where are the others? You said Julian had gotten hurt.”

“We were separated, after the bombs went off at the party,” Worf explains. Jadzia raises her eyebrows. Bombs? “Agents Garak and Bashir were taken somewhere, a few hours ago. I don’t know where.”

Jadzia returns to the pilot chair, and starts typing into the console immediately. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring them back.”

It didn’t take long. Jadzia had hacked her way through the shields of top level Dominion facilities, this planet didn’t even have a proper defense system. Also, the sensors detected there was only one Cardassian life signal in the whole planet. 

When Bashir and Garak beam up, they are on the ground, locked in a passionate embrace, their mouths on each other. 

Worf clears his throat, a little uncomfortable, while Jadzia just exclaims, “Woah, took you two long enough!” 

The two agents curse, separating almost immediately. Julian’s cheeks are flushed, and Garak’s usually perfectly combed hair is now a mess. Jadzia laughs.

And then she notices all the blood in Julian’s shirt. Her eyes widen, and they all rush to his side. Julian groans in pain as they help him up, and Garak looks at him, more concerned that Jadzia’s ever seen him.

“We left the targets down there,” Julian coughs. “Sisko was right; the Orion Syndicate was behind this- we have to-”

“We have to take you to the medbay immediately, my dear, that’s what we have to do,” Garak finishes for him. He reaches to touch the other man’s shoulder, but then moves his hand away. Julian gives him a look, frowning a little. Huh, Jadzia thinks.

“Agent Worf,” Garak calls. “Can you take him there and make sure he doesn’t strain himself while Agent Dax and I take care of our friends, down on the planet?”

Worf nods, despite never being happy with taking orders from the Cardassian. “Come, Doctor,” he says, putting an arm around Julian. “I’ll patch you up to the best of my abilities.” Julian stares at Garak as they leave, but the Cardassian refuses to meet his eyes. The doctor huffs and turns ahead, leaning on Worf as they walk.

Jadzia sighs. So much for that, she supposes. The Trill grabs the phaser Worf left on his chair, and looks at Garak. “Beam me down, and then beam me back up in exactly ten minutes,” she says. Usually, Garak would argue, but the Orions must have really done a number on them, because he moves to the pilot’s chair and does exactly as he’s told.

Agent Dax beams down. Garak stares at the console. He can hear Bashir and Worf on the medbay, as Bashir runs the other agent through what he has to do to stop the bleeding from the stab wound on his torso. Bashir hisses as Worf applies the proper hypos. Garak clenches his fists over the screen.

Since they apparently did survive the Orion death trap, the good doctor is probably going to want an explanation for… some of the things Garak had said and done. He’d want to start one of those ridiculous conversations about feelings he liked to have so much, no doubt.

Garak isn’t looking forward to it.

Just five seconds before the timer goes off, bringing Agent Dax back on board, an explosion goes off right on the Orion base below them. Garak raises his eyebrows.

Jadzia beams back up. Garak looks at her, almost impressed. The Trill smiles, handing him the phaser.

“You’re on my seat,” she says. Garak steps away, and she takes the pilot’s chair, warping them out of the place.

* * *

When the runabout lands on the Starfleet Intelligence HQ’s, a medical team is already there to meet them. They put Doctor Bashir into a hover cot, despite his loud protests, and they take him off to get his injuries properly treated.

Garak finally exhales. Agent Dax puts a hand on his back and smiles, in a way she probably thinks is comforting, but Garak just finds bothersome. 

While he finds her the most competent operative in the agency, after himself of course, they’re only coworkers at the end of the day. A Cardassian would never have taken such liberties with a fellow employee.

The Federation races were so gratingly casual, sometimes.

“He’ll be okay,” Jadzia reassures him, and it is once again, completely unnecessary. “We brought him in alive, they’ll return him like that.”

“I have to go give Admiral Sisko my report of the mission,” Garak states.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Worf is taking care of it,” Jadzia answers. “You know he’s very thorough with his reports.” Garak gave her a look. “You’ve been on the clock for the past week and half, Garak, just go rest for a while.”

The Federation took their ‘R&R’ time very seriously- every worker was granted a certain number of off-hours for every shift they did, and Starfleet Intelligence was no exception. The Obsidian Order would have laughed, but Garak wasn’t above making use of it. 

The Cardassian sleeps for fifteen hours. If he dreams about what happened on the mission, well, it was a good thing mind-probing technology had been banned after the Dominion War, wasn’t it?

Garak wakes up to someone ringing the bell to his quarters. The Cardassian gets up grudgingly, wrapping his favorite robes around himself, and answers the door. 

Agent Dax is there, with her hair pulled back in her usual ponytail and holding three different PADDs in her hands. “Good morning, Garak!” she says, stepping inside. “The files for the next affair have come in- they cleared Julian for visitors, so I thought we could go deliver him his in person!”

Garak just massages his temples. “Of course, Agent, you can come in, thank you for asking for permission.” The Trill smiles, and Garak is still far too tired for this. “I take it they want us back on duty, despite the couple of days off the agency owns us after our previous missions, then.”

“Not exactly,” Dax says, taking a seat on Garak’s couch. Garak wants to groan. Apparently she hasn’t understood that just because Bashir and her like to just hang out in each other's quarters, doesn’t mean they can do the same on Garak’s. “We still have those days off, but Ben wants us to take a look at the files because we’re better at ironing out the details than any of his actual planners are, you especially.”

Garak hums, pleased, but only because Starfleet Intelligence planners were truly a bunch of idiots who favored the flair of a mission over reality sometimes. Agent Dax was annoying, yes, but at least she knew when to take the pragmatic approach. While her opinions were often clouded by useless emotion, her judgement rarely was.

“I am glad Admiral Sisko is quite competent as Head of the agency,” Garak told Dax, as he walked to his replicator. He replicated himself a plate of poached taspar eggs with a cup of red leaf tea. “Would you like anything, agent?”

“Oh, just a cup of raktajino will be fine,” she replied.

Garak sits down to have breakfast while Agent Dax recounts her mission with the Akmarians. It isn’t discussing Preloc with Doctor Bashir, but it’s entertaining enough.

Not for the first time, Garak wonders how his life had spiraled so off course from what he’d been, years ago.

The two agents arrive at the hospital wing of the HQ’s, as a nurse directs them to Bashir’s bed. Garak holds his breath as he sees him there. The Cardassian is briefly pulled back into Imaga IV, as a hand touched the scales of his cheek, and his dear doctor bled in his arms.

Human blood is a ruby red color, so different from the deep brown of Cardassians. 

Garak hasn’t been able to look at the red curtains of his quarters when they’d come back.

_“Collect yourself, Elim,”_ a voice says inside his head, and it sounds very much like Tain.

Bashir smiles, and Garak’s heartbeat doesn’t stay completely normal. “Thank god you are here,” he says. “Can you please tell Nurse Jabara that I am alright and that I don’t need to stay bedbound for another 48 hours?”

Dax takes a seat on the edge of his bed while Garak takes the chair, placing it close to his colleagues. The doctor’s warm eyes are firmly on him as he sits, and Garak doesn’t flinch, although it takes a lot of self control. 

“Julian, you were stabbed _twice,"_ Dax protests.

“The blades missed any important internal organs,” Bashir replies. “I would know.” 

“I think they are more worried about all the tyr gas you inhaled before we got out of the room, doctor,” Garak tells him, a little grim.

While the chemical concoction in the gas was designed by the Maquis to cause Cardassians death, it was meant to be a slow and painful one. It took prolonged exposure to it to cause the desired effects. Humans, however, had a more fragile anatomy. The Orions that put them inside the thing had found it deeply amusing. 

Bashir’s augments had permitted him to survive long enough for Garak to crack their way out of the room, as they’d had all the previous times an enemy placed into a morbid death trap. Why they went to such lengths when just a phaser set to kill would do, Garak had no idea. But then again, he knew torture of a target wasn’t without its uses in their field.

Garak had certainly been tortured on the mission. The sensation of Bashir’s lips on his haunts him more than any trap ever could. 

“I will be fine,” Bashir reassures them. “I didn’t stay in the cell long enough to receive any lethal doses, and the literature says there won’t be any long term side effects if I received proper attention. Which I did,” he adds the last part eying Nurse Jabara, who has stayed at the door. 

“Still, we’d feel more comfortable if you stayed here for as long as they’ve asked you to,” Dax says, but Bashir just frowns. The Trill eyes Garak, asking him to help her here.

The Cardassian sighs. “Just do as you’re told, doctor.” The man still looks unsure, so Garak gives in and adds. “Please.”

Bashir’s look softens, and Garak feels both annoyed and content, that it did. “Okay, I’ll stay,” he complies. Dax smiles. Bashir then gestures at the PADDs they’ve brought. “Is one of those for me?”

“Yes,” Dax hands it to him. “It’s the file for the next affair- we won’t be leaving right away, but Ben wants us to take a look.” 

After a few seconds of reading the file, Bashir puts the PADD down, sighing. “It’s another blasted seduction mission- You’d think that after saving the quadrant so many times they would give us less of those!”

Intrigued, Dax takes the PADD. “Oh, interesting!” She looks up at Garak, grinning. “They want Julian to do the honeypotting this time. On a Ferengi.”

Garak’s nose twitches with disapproval, while Dax gives the thing back to Bashir. “If Starfleet Intelligence has to rely on such unpredictable methods for getting information out of a simple Ferengi, I’m afraid I’ll have to take back my previous comment about Admiral Sisko.”

“Don’t let Ben hear you say that,” Dax replies. “He would be heartbroken.” 

Meanwhile, Bashir had already read through the 10+ pages of the file. “A bartender? They really want me to pose as a bartender?” He looks up at his colleagues, the same way he always does whenever he’s perplexed by something. Garak does not find this in any way endearing. “I’m not complaining about not having to wear that dabo boy costume again, but there has to be a better way to get close to the target...”

And this is the part where Garak knows he’s still tired beyond measure, because it takes all of his willpower not to remember how the doctor had looked like in those particular garments. 

Desperate for a distraction, Garak reaches for his own file. Agent Dax does the same. Garak starts reading it absentmindedly, mainly criticizing whoever came up with the plan for this affair as he always does, when he notices something.

“There’s no mention of any Ferengi on my file,” Garak informs the others. Bashir and Dax share a look. 

“Nor on mine,” Dax says, brows furrowed. “You don’t think they’re sending us on different assignments again, are they?”

“It is likely,” Garak admits, as he reads more of his file. Yes, no mention of any Ferengi, or of Bashir’s apparent bartender for that matter. Dax’s frown deepens, and Bashir grabs her PADD, going through it as he did his own. 

“This says you guys would be leaving in three days,” Bashir notes. “Mine says they won’t be shipping me out until the end of the week- and that you two would be joining me in a couple of weeks, to give me time to get close to the target.”

Garak… isn’t sure how to feel about that. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Positively.”

“I don’t like this,” Dax says. “It’s bad luck when we get separated.”

Garak resists the urge to roll his eyes. This again? “For the last time, agent, your Federation concept of luck bears no actual effect on our assignments.”

Dax raises her head at him. “I didn’t tag along for the previous one and you and Julian ended in a room filled with tyr gas!”

“She has a point,” Bashir concedes. Garak glares at him. “I’m not saying I agree, Garak, just that there does appear to be a correlation between the missions I end up injured, and the missions where one of you doesn’t tag along on.”

Not for the first time, Garak wondered why he even felt attracted to this human.

“You were the only one sent to the Deneb II affair, and it went well,” Garak reminds him. “It was a simple mission that could have been done by the newest of recruits, yes, but after years of working with Starfleet Intelligence, doctor, one would assume you could manage assignments without me or Agent Dax to direct you through every step.”

Bashir grins, a glint in his eyes. “Oh, don’t be so sure, Garak; maybe I’ve grown to rely on your constant nagging about every little thing I’m doing wrong. It’s always so enlightening,” Garak opens his mouth for a reply, but the human continues. “Don’t worry, I think I’ll be able to seduce one simple Ferengi by myself.” The Cardassian freezes and the doctor’s grin widens. “Unless you have objections about it?” 

Garak straightens his back. “Why would I have any, doctor?”

The two looked at each other, Bashir’s grin starting to disappear. Agent Dax sighs. The Trill stands up from the doctor’s bed, grabbing her PAD. 

“I’ll take this as my signal to leave,” Dax says, and for a panicked second, Garak wishes she wouldn’t. “You two obviously have a lot to talk about,” Dax puts a hand on Bashir’s shoulder and kisses him on the cheek briefly. “I’ll see you later, Julian. Do get some rest, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” he replies coldly, still holding Garak’s gaze. 

Dax walks out of the room. Garak exhales. Bashir leans into his bed. 

The silence between them is long and heavy.

Bashir grows annoyed. “Garak, you can’t possibly act like nothing ever happened!”

“I assure you I can,” he affirms. “As a matter of fact, so should you.” Bashir huffs, indignated. “What happened in Imaga IV was just a mistake brought forward by our exposure to tyr gas, doctor, it held no actual meaning. It was just one of those spur of the moment things, as you humans always say.”

“Oh, really?” Bashir’s voice is dripping with disbelief. “Because from my perspective, it sure seemed like a last minute love confession of some sort, passionate now-or-never kiss included.” Garak’s scales flush, but just slightly. Bashir smirks.

Bashir leans forward, hand reaching for Garak’s on the bed. Garak’s eyes travel down, their fingers interlacing, similarly to how they had done back on the planet. 

“Garak,” Bashir says softly. “You care for me a lot, you said it yourself.” Garak looks up at him, and the Cardassian is breathless for a second. “What happened in Imaga IV doesn’t have to be just a one time thing. We could have something here.”

Garak squeezes his hand. “And what would that something be, doctor?”

“I don’t know, what would you want it to be?”

The things Garaks wants, and the things he’s allowed to have, have never been one and the same for as long as he’s been able to remember.

_"Collect yourself, Elim,"_ Tain says in his head again.

Garak lets go of Bashir's hand, giving him a look of discontent that’s hard to make, and even harder to hold. “Please, doctor, you know as well as I do that romantic relationships aren’t viable for people in our line of work.” Bashir’s smile falls, again, and this time it feels as if Garak himself has been stabbed. “After so many years, one would think you’d finally understand.”

Bashir groans, looking up at the ceiling. “Understand what, Garak? That you are going to keep denying yourself all and every opportunity of happiness you can have for more and more foolish reasons?” Garak scoffs. Please, as if the doctor made him _that_ happy. “I talked about this with Admiral Sisko, you know? He said it would be alright, as long as we don’t let it interfere with our assignments too much.”

Garak’s facade was blown away with the genuine surprise of that statement. “You brought it up with _Sisko?!”_ he exclaims, eyes wide. “Julian-” Bashir grins at the mention of his first name and Garak clears his throat. “I meant to say, _doctor_ , you can’t be so naïve as to not realize the consequences such a thing could have for us. What would happen if any of our numerous enemies learns that-” Bashir grins again, Garak glares at him. “-Assumes that I have that sort of affection for you.”

Bashir dismisses it with a gesture. “Everyone and their mother has tried to kill us at some point, and we always escape. That’s what we do! We’re spies!” In everyone’s opinion, Bashir’s insistence that their lives are just like that of 20th century fictional Earth character James Bond had stopped being charming years ago. “And as far as assuming goes, you’d be surprised. The Tal Shiar is convinced we’re _married_ already- must be because I pretend to be your arm candy for half of our missions.” Garak looks at him, horrified. Bashir rolls his eyes. “Come on, Garak, it’s not like marriages are uncommon in the agency, even some of Dax’s hosts got married. Surely there must have been some official couples in the Obsidian Order.”

“Yes,” Garak hisses at him. “But never two men!”

Bashir lowers his shoulders, taken aback. His gaze softens at him again, and Garak can’t do this, not right now. 

Not when he’s obviously letting sentiment get the best of him. 

“Garak-” The doctor tries to reach out to him, but Garak steps away.

The Cardassian stands up, grabbing his PADD. Bashir clenches his hands on the sheets of the hospital bed. 

Garak turns to him, when he gets to the door. “Despite what you might have… interpreted from the events of Imaga IV, doctor, a relationship like that can never happen between us,” He says.

Bashir looks at him, pained. “Even if the emotions were mutual?”

Garak inhales, sharply. His eyes widen, and he stares at Julian, who smiles sadly and nods. The Cardassian looks away. No, it still can’t be. 

“Even if they were mutual,” he finishes. 

Garak leaves the hospital room, and Bashir watches him go. The doctor will be unhappy for a while, but he’ll get over it, Garak hopes.

As for him? Well, Garak permits himself a brief moment of joy at the thought that his affections might not be one-sided, whether they can act on them or not.

* * *

The question of how did an augmented Human, a joined Trill, and the most paranoid ex-Obsidian Order operative in existence ended up becoming Starfleet Intelligence’s best team of agents is one often asked around the SI HQ’s. Chief O’Brien, director of the R&D department in the building, has to answer it almost every time a new intern finds out just who they’re making all of these gadgets for. 

“Look, kid.” Miles answers, because he got tired of having to explain why his best friend is best friends with a Cardassian of all people. The Federation fought with them during the Dominion War, there’s still some resentment left. “If you’re really curious, you can bring it up with Admiral Sisko.” The Ferengi intern pales a little. Miles sighs. “I meant, he likes to tell the story whenever he can. If you catch him during lunch, I’m sure he’ll be happy to share.”

And so Cadet Nog went to find the Admiral. He was best friends with his son, so he’d be open to talk about something more informal, right?

Sisko smiles at him. “How I got those three working together? Oh, that’s a funny story, Cadet.” While the Admiral is one the most intimidating people in the Agency -rumor has it that even Agent Worf is scared of him- Ben always takes the time to be nice to the younger interns, particularly Nog. He reminds Sisko of himself and how he used to be, back when his office was Curzon’s. “I’m sure you know about Agent Dax?”

“Agent Dax?” Nog says, his eyes shining as he sets his plate down. “You mean the Spy Legend Jadzia Dax? The one that had holo programs based on some of her previous hosts?” The cadet pauses, remembering himself. He clears his throat, a bit embarrassing. “Yes, sir, I have heard of her. The lower decks are huge fans of hers.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Sisko agrees, but only because Dax isn’t there. Eight lifetimes spent under the agency will do that to you. “Well, then you know this Dax is technically not a Federation officer.” 

“No, sir, she’s a Klingon agent, lent to the agency by the Klingon High Council in an effort to aid us against the growing Romulan threat,” Nog recites, then pausing again, perplexed. “I apologize for asking, sir, but isn’t it strange that the actual Klingon agent is Federation while Dax, a member of a Federation race, is not?”

“Yes, cadet, it’s a little weird,” Sisko admits. Worf will never forgive Jadzia for knowing more about Klingon culture than he does. “Do you want to know how it happened?” Nog nods, enthusiastically. And so Sisko tells the story.

Jadzia was an intergalactic thief, before Dax, and before that, she was a Starfleet officer. Her file as a cadet was impeccable- top scores in all her subjects, captain of the Klingon Martial Arts team, all qualifications for a prospective host, and even ship captain, if she hadn’t been so in love with exobiology. She’d been promoted all the way to Lieutenant Commander, in just a few years.

Nog tilts his head, intrigued. “How could such a condecorated officer become a wanted criminal, sir?” 

Sisko’s eyes soften. “The Dominion War changed everyone, cadet.” The Ferengi nods, understanding. He has a prosthetic leg for a reason. “It really changed Jadzia. She was honorably discharged from the Fleet at her request, after the emotional toll the Battle of the Toron System took on her.” Nog winces. Toron had been dark, or so the veterans said, even for the Dominion War.

While Jadzia had indeed survived Toron, and multiple other battles where she had to take command of her ship on some occasions, the real reason she was discharged is a secret for everyone under Alpha 3 clearance.

It hadn’t been the battles or the deaths that had made Jadzia lose her faith in the Fleet. No, Jadzia was stronger than that, even before Dax.

It had been the knowledge that Starfleet had helped the Symbiosis Commission on the biggest cover up of Trill history that had finally made her crack. Disheartened, Jadzia had turned in her insignia to her commanding officer.

“I felt like I was drifting,” the old man tried to explain once. “The war was nearly ending, but everything was far from over. That Trill docent had been right; I lacked purpose. So I took some time for myself, and fought for a cause that I could actually believe in.”

Sisko is glad she found herself, in the end. A part of Ben thinks he himself hasn’t done that, not really, not since Bajor. 

But it’s okay. Sometimes, just being behind a worthy cause helps.

“Are you aware of just how much art and other cultural artifacts the Cardassians and other invaders stole from a lot of non-allied planets?” Sisko asks Nog. Nog furrows his brows, then nods. “Well, while Starfleet and the rest of the Alliance helped them with food and medicines, Agent Dax decided to take another approach.” 

“It wasn’t stealing, Ben!” the old man would insist as well. “Think of it more as… righteous archeology unsanctioned by the government.”

“All of the pieces Dax took from Orion ships or a retired Gul’s villa,” Sisko continues, “were returned in excellent state to their original homeworlds.”

Nog smiles. “She was more of a Robin Hood than an A. J. Raffles then, sir?” He hopes he used the right Hew-man pop culture icons. He always gets them wrong, when Jake tries to explain them to him. 

“Correct, cadet,” Sisko replies. “And she was a successful one at that, until she decided to steal something from the wrong Klingon Noble house.” Nog’s eyes widen. “Luckily for her, Starfleet Intelligence needed a Trill at the time, and the Noble houses always held Curzon at a high esteem, so they were willing to help as much as they could to find his Symbiote a new host. As for Jadzia… I’m sure anyone would pick almost anything over a Klingon prison.”

Nog shudders. “My uncle landed himself on one of those once, sir. I used to have nightmares as a kid, hearing about it.”

“I almost got thrown into one, once, but that’s a story for another time,” Sisko says. “But yes, that’s how Agent Dax joined our team. Having the memories of three previous Heads of Starfleet Intelligence truly does help you skip most of the new recruit training.” 

Nog’s face darkens. “I’m sure being from the Obsidian Order helps as well, sir.”

While Sisko normally doesn’t allow any form of bigotry among his crew, the admiral can’t really blame Nog for his distrust of that Cardassian, specifically.

Sisko will never forget that the reason the Romulans joined the Alliance during the Dominion War lies solely on that man.

“Agent Garak is one of our best operatives, cadet,” Sisko scolds him. “Even if he was employed by a different agency in the past, his loyalties are with Starfleet Intelligence now.” At least for as long as Cardassia was dependent on the Federation, but then again, Sisko smiles, Garak is not without his ties here now. “He fought against the Dominion just like we did, under Damar’s rebellion. While Dukat’s Cardassia betrayed the quadrant, not all Cardassians were compliant under his rule. The Union has always had dissidents.”

It doesn’t really stop being sad, that Garak helped free his home but they still didn’t lift his exile. 

His undying loyalty for his people is annoying at times, since he never ceases to compare how Sisko runs things with how the Order did, but it’s so heartfelt it hurts, sometimes. Especially in the way Garak always tries to pull as many strings as he can, to pressure the Federation into sending more aid to his people. 

Sisko and Dax help him with that, when they can. 

Still, it doesn’t mean Sisko won’t collect his money from the betting pool the office has going on the Cardassian and Bashir. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that when I recruited him, I found Agent Garak hemming pants in some cold space station?” Sisko tells Nog. The cadet’s expression is hilarious. 

“But,” Nog protests. “Rumor has it that he was Tain’s right hand and he’s the one responsible for at least 5 different political assassinations, sir, how-”

“Exactly,” Sisko says. “Now you see why it’s better to keep him on _our_ side.”

Ben doesn’t want to think about the timeline where the Tal Shiar grabbed the sad, lonely tailor before he did. Sisko nearly shudders.

“Sir,” Nog asks. “What I still don’t completely understand is how Agent Bashir ended up partnered with both of them.” Sisko gives him a look. The cadet adds quickly. “I meant no disrespect! It’s just that Agents Garak and Dax have decades of experience and training while Agent Bashir simply… doesn’t.”

“His full degree in medicine has saved the team more than once,” Sisko answers, because as far as everyone is concerned, Bashir really did graduate from Starfleet Medical. “And to put it bluntly, cadet, having a person who can do calculations almost as fast as a Vulcan and has lightning-fast reflexes, yet passes for a normal human most of the time is a very useful asset.”

Bashir is more than just his intelligence and surgery skills, of course. His genuine enthusiasm was adorable, yet a little irritating during the first year, but his firm morals and genuine care for everyone balances the team pretty well, especially when Garak’s concerned. Sisko also knows that Bashir, somehow, centers Dax a little from her more impulsive tendencies, like the affair with Miss Lenara Kahn showed.

Still, it is easy to see why people see Bashir as the odd-man out of the team. While his lack of training is still obvious at times, the reason why he’s such an important agent needs Alpha 1 clearance.

Even Ben doesn’t know the entire story, but let’s just say that when Section 31 asked for one of their operatives to be placed on the team, Sisko picked the man who stood up for ideals, even among the darkest points of the Dominion War and everything the Federation had to do to end it.

“I get that, sir,” Nog continues. “But… you know about the Federation’s laws against Augments,” He raises his hands. “Not that I have anything against them! That is a silly Hew-man prejudice, if I’m being honest, sir.” Sisko had to agree. “But… yeah, a lot of the lower decks seem unnerved by him, for some reason.”

“Silly prejudice always finds us one way or another, cadet,” Admiral Sisko tells him. “I do my best to put it behind us, at least on my agency. Or I wouldn’t have accepted the first Ferengi in Starfleet Intelligence.”

Nog blinks for a second, then straightens his back, smiling proudly. “I will do my best then, sir!”

Sisko smiles. “I know you will, Nog.” After all, that’s what everyone in the agency is expected to do.

* * *

Julian goes to see them off at the dock, when Garak and her are about to head into their next mission. The man still looks a little pale, and he’s got orders to steer clear from straining exercise at least for the next week, but Jadzia is glad to see him back on his feet. 

“Try not to have too much fun without me,” the doctor says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“The same could be said to you,” Jadzia replies. “You’ll be deep in Ferengi territory, the next time we see you.”

Julian groans, letting go. “I don’t know why they are sending me on this one, Garak’s much better at honey potting than I am.”

Garak simply huffs, offended. “And mind you, when did I ever demonstrate such skills?”

His partners give him a look.

“That Vulcan lady when we needed to board the _T'Kelvat_ ,” Jadzia says.

“That other lady on Defera Prime,” Julian adds.

“That pirate captain on Roxana Station,” She continues.

“That other Cardassian doctor,” Julian crosses his arms.

“-And everything you did during the Nimbus III affair counts as honeypotting, even if it was for an old enemy,” Jadzia finishes.

Garak’s scales flush just a little, but he dismisses everything with a hand gesture. “Agents, please, that was just necessary for completing the assignments.” He looks up, meeting Julian’s eyes for the first time since they got to the dock. “I’m sure you can do the same, doctor. Even if this is a Ferengi.”

Dax nudges him with her elbow. “Hey, Ferengis aren’t so bad. They make for surprisingly good friends, if you get to know them well.”

“If only the same could be said about the Trill-” Jadzia nudged him again. Julian laughs. Garak rolls his eyes. “Just try to not get too attached to anyone this time. It seriously complicates the mission whenever either of you two do.”

Julian holds his gaze, almost defiantly. “Who knows, maybe I will try and find someone for real. It’s two weeks in a luxury resort, after all.” Oh, dear. “Some drinks and relaxation are bound to do me good, after so much work.”

“You know what they say,” Jadzia said. “No rest for the wicked.”

Garak was unimpressed. “Oh yes, because we count as the wicked in this case.”

“You’d be surprised.” Julian smiles, this time for real. “Please do take care. It’d be dreadful if it was also bad when I’m not there,” Garak opens his mouth, but Julian cuts him. “Aw, save it, you ridiculous lizard, I’m going to wish you good luck whether you like it or not.” His face shifts to worry for a second, and Jadzia’s chest aches, just a little. “A peaceful assignment can turn sour when you least expect it, like we just learned.”

Jadzia puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Julian, we’ll be okay. We’ll watch each other's backs, like we always do.” 

Garak pauses, but he inclines his head, in a Cardassian gesture that Jadzia remembers from another lifetime ago as signaling fondness with a person. “We will do our best to arrive back on one piece, doctor, that I can assure you.”

No death traps could ever kill Dax, after all.

Julian hugs her goodbye, and shares an awkward moment with Garak, where they settle on shaking hands, like they’re old colleagues twice their age. Jadzia winces. 

If she wants to win the betting pool, she has to find a way to get these two together before the affair with the Ferengi ends. It's for her own sanity and theirs, at this point.

Garak and her get on board the runabout, and Julian waves them goodbye, staying behind as his friends go on to the stars without him.


	2. The Meerja Telri

The assignment takes both agents far into Klingon territory, where even if it’s a rundown colony with a diverse population of everyone running away from the Klingon authorities, Garak stands out like a sore thumb. But that’s what the agency wanted.

The Cardassian is dragged to see the leader of the little underground ring they have going on the planet after just two days there. The tall, muscular Orion scowls at him. “Well, well, well, look at what we’ve got here...” he says, leaning in what he probably thinks is his imposing throne. It’s made out of scrap metal and the stolen seat of a war bird, and frankly, it just looks horrendous. “A Cardie who thought it would be a good idea to show his face on my planet. Don’t you know what we do to Cardies around here? We get rid of them!”

Garak has heard better threats from actual children, but he’s supposed to be a cowardly ex-soldier for this mission. So, he hunches his shoulders and pretends to shake. “I can pay you well, good sir! I assure you I can get as much latinum as you want, if you just let me go!”

The Orion smiles. Garak resists the urge to groan.

“Oh, not as much as the Empire will pay for one war-criminal, I bet!” He exclaims. “Don’t think we don’t know who you are-  _ Glin Gem Ghissak!” _ Garak almost wants to laugh. These people really do fall for everything. Instead, he just opens his eyes wide, shocked. “Yes, that’s right, you filthy vole, we know everything about you. The House of Martok will reward us kindly for your capture.”

The House of Martok has been helping Starfleet Intelligence for years now. The General is a good friend of Doctor Bashir, if Elim remembers correctly, and he is an alright man, if you don’t despise impromptu singing with all of your being.

But Glin Ghissak is, of course, terrified of the man. The Cardassian throws himself at the Orion’s feet. “No, please! Kill me instead,” He begs. “Kill me instead!”

“Oh, I gladly would,” the Orion assures him, as he signals for his guards at the corners. “But Martok wants you alive. Take him to the cells!”

Garak kicks and fights the guards’ hold on him, although not as hard or as effectively as he would if he wanted to escape for real. It’s an art of his, by now.

The guards throw him inside to the dirty, cold floor and lock him inside. And all Orion cells must look extremely alike, because this is feeling like a repeat of Imaga IV.

Garak curses himself, for thinking of that in a moment like this. He also curses Bashir for not just accepting what can’t be. 

Stupid, idealistic doctor. 

The Cardassian dusts himself off and stands back up, turning around. Now that he’s here, the real assignment can start.

“Oh, won’t you believe my luck,” Garak says, glaring at his cellmates. “I got placed here with a Nausicaan.”

Zegeng, the target and the real reason for the assignment, just glares at him. “Fuck you too, buddy,” he says. The reports were correct- Zegeng is much less aggressive than the typical male of his species. He might be willing to cooperate with Starfleet, once Agent Dax storms the place to break Garak and him out.

Garak doesn’t befriend the target as the plan originally stated, but the original plan was stupid anyway. Garak does, however, annoy Zegeng so much in the ten days spent in their cell, that when Dax arrives, Zegeng is more than happy to help in the escape, provided the Cardassian does get delivered to Starfleet for a trial. 

“Oh, he will,” Dax reassures him, once they’re out and she’s placed a pair of magnetic handcuffs on Garak, glaring at him like his very presence disgusts her. “This scum here is the worst of the worst. We might not be as hardcore as a Klingon prison, but he’ll pay for what he did, trust me.”

Garak thinks she’s enjoying this a bit too much.

Zegeng frowns, behind the tusks his race is known for. “I suppose this is the part where you hand me in to the authorities, Lieutenant.”

Dax nods. “You know I have to, Zeg. I’m sorry.”

The Nausicaan sighs, looking down. “It’s okay,” He says. “I’m just angry, that I won’t be able to get my revenge at the Syndicate.”

“You know,” Dax tells him carefully. “You might still be able, if you’re willing to share with Starfleet some of the things you told me.” The Nausicaan looks up. “The Federation are reasonable people, Zeg. If you help them with this, they might be able to help you and your family too. You could get that fresh start you wanted.”

Her combadge beeps, and they all look at it. The ship scheduled to pick them up is here. Dax turns to the Nausicaan, who’s still quiet.

“I… will think about it,” Zegeng says, and Jadzia smiles.

Another successful mission to add to the logs. Admiral Sisko sure seems to think so. “Well done, both of you, I knew you were the perfect team for this one.” He says, like they’re school-aged children who still need the positive reinforcement. 

Tain would never have complimented his agents over anything. Perhaps a  _ “this was almost an adequate job, Elim” _ , or a _“I suppose keeping you alive was not without its uses”_.

The Federation really is soft. How they didn’t lose the Dominion War, or at least didn’t win it sooner, is beyond him.

“We’re ready for our next assignment, sir,” Agent Dax says, Garak nods in agreement. “How is Julian doing?”

“Well, or at least that’s what his reports indicate,” Sisko replies, giving them both a PADD. Dax takes hers, reading through it enthusiastically. Garak disapproves, she’s so unbecoming for an agent of her status sometimes, but he goes through his file at the same speed. 

The doctor is indeed doing well. Garak’s eye twitches. Maybe a bit  _ too  _ well.

“The Meerja Telri Resort was recently purchased by Quark, the Ferengi Agent Bashir was tasked with ‘befriending’,” Sisko explains, smirking at the euphemism. “He’s a prominent figure in the criminal circles of this part of the quadrant- the Bajorans have been trying to catch him for years. He’s been involved with everything from arms-trading to illegal recipes of yamok sauce.”

Garak looks down at the Ferengi on the file. He has the lobes and ears typical of his people, as well as light eyes surrounded by way too much eyeshadow. His taste in suits is adequate, but his manicure leaves something to be desired.

He dislikes the man almost immediately.

“Why was Agent Bashir tasked with seducing  _ this?” _ Garak asks. The admiral and Dax give him a look. Garak huffs. “He’s mostly linked to petty theft, bribery, contraband and other felonies, but nothing serious enough to get the agency’s eyes on him. There must be another reason- does he have ties to anyone we should actually care about?”

“As a matter of fact, he does,” Sisko continues, looking more and more amused. Garak decides to ignore that. “You are aware of who Lursa and B'etor are?”

“Those two Klingon sisters?” Dax replies. Sisko nods. Garak knows he should keep more up-to-date with Klingon politics, but he just can’t find it in him to be interested. “They are part of the now dishonored House of Duras,” She adds, for her colleague. “Their father betrayed the Empire, before the war, and their brother was killed during a large sequel of events that I can explain to you later. They’ve staged at least three separate coups d’etat against the High Council, but they’ve never worked. The Klingons consider them an orange level threat, at best.”

“Well, they’ve become a red level one now,” Sisko informs them, leaning into his table. “They somehow found someone that can supply them with Kessar warheads.” 

Dax’s eyes widen. Garak’s entire face darkens. “I’ve seen what those things can do, first-hand,” he says, somberly.

Sisko gives him a sympathetic look. “So now you see why this mission is so important. They will be holding a meeting with their contacts at the resort. Quark is working with them, but Agent Bashir has done his job, and he’s now willing to turn to our side.” Garak grits his teeth. “Your job, on the other hand, is to find out who’s insane enough to supply such weapons of mass destruction to the sisters, and make sure not a single one of them makes it into their hands.”

* * *

A few days later, Garak and Jadzia are onboard a runabout again, making their way to Trivas V where the resort is located. The planet’s barely 3 light years away from the Bajoran system. Dax has been in the sector before, but never in this particular planet. The assignment aside, she’s looking forward to the beach- the pictures on their file look lovely, as she keeps telling Garak.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, agent,” he stresses. Her partner has changed into light colored trousers with a mustard-colored, belted tunic that’s low enough on his neck that it’d probably turn a few eyes back on Cardassian. “But we aren’t going there for shoreleave.”

“Oh really?” Jadzia smiles. She herself is wearing a purple wrap-around top, with a pair of sunglasses and a large hat that matches her shoes and slitted skirt. Not to mention all her jewelry. All in, they do look like a couple of rich tourists. “Then why did you sign us up for an afternoon at the spa?”

“We are posing as an eccentric fashion designer and his pampered wife, agent. It fits with the narrative,” he insists, although Jadzia knows it’s really only because the hotel has a sauna. “I’m assuming you’ve gone through the list of suspects that Intelligence gave us. They appear convinced that the supplier could be that Bolian the doctor mentioned.”

Jadzia’s smile disappears. “I’d prefer to do some recon ourselves before we start pointing any fingers. His reports also mentioned a Lurian and a Vulcan, we should focus on them as well,” Her partner still doesn’t look pleased. “You know, Garak? You’re no fun when you’re missing Julian.”

He raises his head abruptly. “Who said anything about missing the doctor?”

Jadzia gives him a look. “You didn’t need to say it, you’ve been brooding all week! You’re always either complaining about the Ferengi target, or going through the file of this and the previous two assignments obsessively,” The Cardassian opens his mouth to protest, but Jadzia adds. “Also, you trashed that Orion base during our escape more than was necessary for the mission. The implications of that are pretty obvious- you're still furious at what they did to him on Imaga IV.” 

Garak frowns, leaning into his chair. “You were furious too.”

“He’s my friend,” Jadzia tells him. “Of course I was.” 

Garak looks away. Jadzia sighs. Sometimes she wished that Cardassians we’re more direct, sometimes, but she knows better than to press too much where this Cardassian is concerned.

Julian will tell her what happened, anyway. 

A group of Ferengi is there to meet them already, once they beam down. The sea breeze hits them immediately, as well as the hot midday sun. Jadzia’s glad for her hat.

“Welcome to the Meerja Telri Resort!” One of the Ferengi steps forward, moving to shake Garak’s hand. He’s wearing a stylish magenta uniform, and his smile looks more genuine than Jadzia’s ever seen on a Ferengi. “We’re very honored to have you here, Mr. Geran! My name is Rom, my brother Quark sent me to greet you personally- He’s a huge fan of your work!”

The hotel is as wonderful as the file described. Jadzia looks at it through her sunglasses. The architecture is a mixture of pre-occupation Bajoran, with some touches of modern Pelian, plants and flowers blooming on the walls, and colorful rugs and fabrics adorning the entrances and windows. The building is tall, with arches and columns extending into two wings. The walls are painted a lovely orange, complimenting the rustic look of the place, giving it a warm and cozy feeling. Jadzia smiles- the heat will have Garak in a better mood, at least. 

Garak, who’s slipped into his fashion designer persona with an ease that still freaks Jadzia out, just smiles at him. “Oh, the honor is all ours,” he tells him, honey-sweet. “I have been looking forward to these vacations- I’ve been under so much stress trying to draft everything for my next collection and it’s been dreadful- Oh, do be careful with that, dear, those contain the most expensive of Tholian silks,” He asked the Ferengi handling their luggage, a menacing glint in his eyes. The guy winced, moving to handle everything with more care.

“And you must be the famous Zia Decker!” Rom tells Jadzia. “You’re even more beautiful in person, miss!”

“Thank you,” Jadzia laughs, lifting her sunglasses off her face. “Your brother has a very lovely place- when we saw the offer you had for this weekend, we just  _ had _ to come here. Is it true that you have a real Akhmar sauna in your spa?”

“We do!” Rom reassures her, as they start walking. Garak offers Jadzia his arm, and she takes it, as they go from the front gardens into the hotel’s lobby. 

“How wonderful,” Jadzia says. “It’s one of the things my husband misses most about Cardassia. Isn’t that right,  _ Reggie?” _

Garak’s smile tenses the smallest amount. “Yes, dearest.” He answers, looking around, at the other couples beaming in with their luggage. “I take it your hotel is popular?”

“Yes, yes, especially with our Hew-man Valentine’s Day Couples Get-away this weekend!” Rom explains. 

There are indeed a lot of other couples there, sitting on the couches, talking around the fountain at the center of the room, holding fruity drinks. There’s a small line over the front desk, and Jadzia notices more Ferengi workers moving around, wearing a more simple version of Rom’s uniform. She even notices a couple of Bajoran clerks, talking to what appears to be an entire Andorian marriage.

Rom gives them an apologetic look. “It might take a while for you to get the key to your room, sir, sorry…”

Garak and Jadzia share a look. This is… more people that they were expecting.

Intelligence had said that one of the Kessar warheads may even be hidden in the building already. 

Jadzia’s hand tightens on Garak’s arm. She hopes Julian had time to do more recon, because they’ll certainly be needing it.

* * *

Despite what Agent Dax thinks, the reason Garak spent so much time analysing the files is because they can’t allow any of the mistakes he made on Imaga IV to repeat themselves here. If he’s been reading and rereading Doctor Bashir’s reports, it’s because they just have a couple of days to find out who’s the real supplier of the warheads. 

Garak’s particularly preoccupied because if they’re not able to find out who did it, the High Council is going to find a way to blame the incident on the weapon’s inventors somehow, and unlike before the Dominion War, the Cardassian Union will have no way to protect themselves against a Klingon invasion this time.

So yes, he’s under stress, but it’s not in any way related to the doctor. On the contrary, Garak’s glad he managed to sway the Ferengi to their side so easily. Whatever methods Bashir used to do so, it’s none of his concern.

What  _ is  _ of his concern, is that they get a room on the west wing of the hotel.

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s simply no more suites left on the fourth flour.” the receptionist tells him. She’s a clothed female Ferengi, which now-a-days isn’t that rare of a sight. As it turns out, Ferenginar discovered that having half your population join the workforce is more profitable than just having them locked inside a house. “We could upgrade you to a premium suite on the fifth floor if you like, which includes a lovely sea view and a daily bottle of champagne, all on the house!”

“Thank you,” Garak says tersely. “But I would much rather stay closer to the pool. A friend said the sun hit the rooms of the fourth floor just perfectly in this resort, which would make for the perfect and warmest of mornings for my wife and me.” The receptionist sighs, imagining it. 

“Please, my dear,” Garak tells her with the smile that made Dukat’s father reveal all sorts of state secrets. He leans forward, handing her his Federation credit card. “I’m sure you can just have your staff make a quick shift between our luggage and another couple’s, for an extra tip.”

The receptionist relents, her ears’ flushed just the tiniest bit. “I will see to it, sir!” she says, taking his card. “Would you like me to take one of our finest Kanar bottles up for you and your wife?” Garak pauses for a second, before nodding.

Starfleet Intelligence’s willingness to spend more resources than the Obsidian Order ever did for individual agents isn’t without its perks.

Garak goes to find Agent Dax. She waves at him from a seat at the corner. Garak hums with approval, it’s a good vantage point from which to observe the rest of the guests.

Dax greets him with a cup of iced red leaf tea that he didn’t ask for but takes, because it would look out of character to refuse. She got herself one of those Piña coladas that humans favor so much. “You got us that room I wanted, Reggie?” She asks.

Garak gives her a look. “Yes I did, and you know how I feel about nicknames, dearest.”

The Trill laughs. “Come on, you know I had to do it,” She lowers her voice, leaning forward. “You named yourself ‘Regnar’ for this!”

Garak huffs. “I’ll have you know that Regnars are very respected animals in Cardassia for their ability to camouflage themselves.”

“They're tiny lizards.” She grins, taking a sip of her drink. “Plus, I’m supposed to be your wife, and you know how Federation couples are with sappy pet names.” Garak rolls his eyes. “The Vulcan couple over on the fountain looks suspicious,” she says, and Garak glances at them. 

Between all the other couples and at the center of the room, a pair of Vulcans stand talking with their hands behind their backs. They look like your typical Vulcans, with their triangular bowl cuts and their neutral faces. Their floor length robes with their long sleeves are more lavish than typical Vulcan modern fashion, but if they’re in a place like this it wouldn’t be unusual.

“What with them?” Garak asks.

“Turn off your UT.” Dax indicates, and Garak does.

He’s not as fluent with the Vulcan tongue as Dax and Bashir are, but something does stand out. It’s not something Garak would have noticed when he was with the Order, but he’s become much more familiar with the cultures that make up the Federation now.

While Vulcans remain the more dignified, and thus the most agreeable of the Federation races, even they relax among their family and loved ones. The pair by the fountain were standing close together, indicating their status as bondmates. 

But they’re using the formal way to address each other, while they’re talking by themselves in what would otherwise be a very casual situation. It’s a tiny detail, and no one would notice with the universal translator, but it’s there.

And Doctor Bashir had mentioned a Vulcan in his reports. 

“Suspicious indeed,” Garak says. “Have you noticed anyone else?” He means the Lurian or the Bolian, of course.

Dax shakes her head. “Not yet, but this showed up with our drinks.” She hands him a napkin. Garak reads what’s written on it.

_ ‘D, Come see me. -B.’  _ It says. Garak sighs.

“There’s better ways to send a message,” he tells his colleague. “Ways less easy to be intercepted- who says I’m the only one here who would order a red leaf tea?”

“You’re only angry because he didn’t ask for you,” she answers, folding it into her pocket. Garak grits his teeth, and a Ferengi finally arrives to take them to their suite.

Their luggage is already there, when they arrive. Garak checks it for any sign of opening attempts. They’re in a five star resort, but Garak would never put it past the staff. Not that it would work, anyway. The luggage, as well as the rest of the devices they’re using for the mission, were designed by Chief O’Brien himself and they can only be activated by a SI member. 

“What are you doing?” Agent Dax says, coming out of the bathroom wearing a pair of white shorts and a dark halter top. Garak himself has changed into a looser teal shirt, and a pair of Cardassian style swimming trunks. 

“What does it look like I am doing?” Garak tells her, kneeled on the floor with a tricorder. “Really, dear, after nearly three centuries of experience one would think you’d know to look for bugs under the bed,” he says, moving to scan the lamps and night table. The tricorder beeps, and Garak closes it. “All clear.”

Dax sighs. “You know, you’re very paranoid, even for Intelligence.”

“Once can never be too paranoid in Intelligence,” he replies, finally looking at her outfit. Garak shakes his head. “That top won’t do, agent.”

“Why?” She furrows her brows. “It’s cute, I like it.”

“It’s very last season,” Garak continues. “And you’re supposed to be a haute-couture model. Just wear one of the options I picked for you, you’ll look more the part.”

“Maybe,” Jadzia says. “But this choice shows off my spots.”

She… has got a point. 

“I’m going to eat lunch and then to the bar to find Julian,” She indicates, walking to the door. “What are you going to do?”

“Oh, I’ll look for the pool,” Garak replies. “Have fun with the bartender, dearest.”

He does some unpacking, before he leaves the room. The tools he uses now are different from the uses he used with the Order, but Garak’s always liked to know where everything is, before he needs it. 

Something he has to give to Starfleet Intelligence is their ability to mask important devices and weapons as other much more mundane things. Agent Dax’s laser lipstick has come in handy more than once, as has the doctor’s wristwatch. Garak prefers less showy things, but he does appreciate every new creation that the R&D department makes for him. 

Garak is not aware whether the rest of the agency knows it or not, but Chief O’Brien will probably end up becoming the most important person in Starfleet Intelligence history.

And so the Cardassian grabs one of the devices, a small scanner that fits on the palm of his hand, and a towel, and leaves the room, the door locking behind him. He’s about to head to the end of the hallway to start, when someone bumps into his shoulder. 

Garak nearly drops the scanner.

“Watch it!” the woman says, and Garak looks at her. She’s a Bajoran, with the nose ridges and the earring. Her dark eyes seem familiar, but Garak can’t remember who she is, exactly. “What? I’ve got something on my face?”

“My apologies, madam,” Garak says, stepping away with a smile. The woman frowns, which could be because she also recognizes Garak, or just because he’s a member of the species that occupied her planet for so long. 

The Bajoran groans, waking away. “Cardassians…” she mutters, so Garak will go for the latter.

And he can’t focus on her at the moment, anyway. Garak has a job to do. He activates the scanner. 

Some of the main components of Kessar warheads are biomimetic compounds, as any Cardassian knows. These compounds are rare and extremely hard to scan for, seeing as the quantities normally used for anything are in the microliters scale. However, anyone and anything who came in contact with the warheads should show microscopic traces of them.

Chief O’Brien put together scanners for the team, but they only detect the material if they come within a six meter radius of it. Bashir has spent the last two weeks going through the entire hotel and the surroundings. He managed to narrow it down as far as the west wing of the fourth floor, but that’s still about fifty rooms that Garak has to scan one by one. 

So yeah, it takes a while. Garak’s starting to wonder if Doctor Bashir made a mistake or not, when the device’s light suddenly turns green and-

Someone clears their throat behind him. Garak turns around, hiding the scanner in his pocket. The Cardassian’s eyes widen.

“Excuse me, sir,” The changeling asks. Garak inhales sharply. “But just what are you doing?”

The changeling has a pair of blue eyes and slicked-back blonde hair. His pinkish and smooth face is strange, but not intimidating, especially when paired with the striped shirt and the beige khakis he’s wearing. Still, he looks so alike to the Female Changeling, that Garak finds it absolutely unnerving.

A shudder travels down the agent’s spine, as he remembers his encounter with that monster.

If Garak smiles and acts calm, it’s only because of his training. “I’m afraid I got lost looking for the pool. This hotel truly is a maze, you’d think they would at least place signs to where things are,” he says, and the changeling looks down at him, with his swimming trunks and towel. “Pardon my manners, my name is Geran. Are you also here for the Couples Get-away? I came here with my dear wife, our suite is just down the hall.”

Cardassian don’t usually shake hands when they meet each other. It’s not a well-known fact, so Garak’s surprised when the Changeling doesn’t try to reach out for his hand.

“I’m Odo,” he answers, followed by what sounds very much like a harrumph. “I came here with a friend.” Garak starts smiling again, and he adds. “Just a friend. We heard there would be a discount, if we just shared a room.”

“How delightful! I had no idea the resort was also running the event for single people,” Garak tells him. “Are you both hoping to find someone special this weekend, mister?”

“Something like that,” Odo says. And then he reaches for the door of the room where the scanner had detected the biomimetic compound.

Garak pauses for a moment. Odo gives him a look.

“The pool is downstairs,” the changeling tells him. 

“Thank you,” Garak grips his towel, just a little. Odo gives him a nod and enters the suite. Garak reaches for the scanner, and yes, it’s still green. Garak hums.

He’ll have to look into the changeling. And if he knows the Dominion, the changeling will be looking into him too.

* * *

After Jadzia’s done eating, she takes a moment to explore the hotel before she gets to the bar. In Dax’s experience, it’s always good to know the arragement of a place, especially because there always appears to be at least one over-the-top, complicated chase scene per assignment.

Jadzia is very good at chase scenes.

The resort is big. There’s two pools, a bunch of jacuzzis on the rooftop, the spa has twelve different rooms, and there’s even a bunch of springball courts that Jadzia just might sign her and Garak up for. The beach stretches itself in the background, with the blue and lovely sea washing into the sand. There’s torches and a small podium being set up there, and Jadzia thinks it will look splendid at night.

The layout, however, is a mess- it’s easy to get lost in the place, and Jadzia takes note of the particular paths and bifurcations that might help her lose future enemies. 

Jadzia doesn’t notice anything suspicious, though. The staff appears perfectly normal, if a bit rushed due to the influx of new clients. She finds the Lurian sleeping on a beach chair by one of the pools, and he’s so vulnerable out in the open that Jadzia decides he’s not the one they’re looking for.

Okay, time to find Julian. She has to ask around a bit, to find just where the bar is, and a very nice lady informs her that there’s three of them. Why isn’t Jadzia surprised?

The bar that Julian is currently in is the one adjacent to the lobby. It’s in a long hallway with arched windows, looking out to the ocean. The sea salt smell hits you as you come in, and Jadzia smiles. There're leather couches around small wooden tables, facing the view, but Jadzia heads for the counter. Her friend’s behind it, looking quite fetching in his bartender uniform of a black tie and a magenta button up shirt, with the sleeves rolled up.

Julian’s attending one of the Vulcans from earlier. His eyes meet Jadzia’s, as she takes a seat, but their attention returns to the Vulcan woman. She orders a Rillian melon Daiquiri, and Julian moves to make it. Jadzia has to admit, he does look like he’s been mixing drinks for years. He puts the ingredients into the shaker, moving it back and forth with a charming smile, and then gracefully straining the drink into a chilled coupe. He garnishes the drink with a melon slice on the rim, and slides it to the Vulcan.

“Here you go, T’Paj,” he says, eying Jadzia again for a brief second. The Trill sits up, paying attention to the woman.

“Thank you, Mr. Bahar,” she answers, taking the drink. Her movements are sharp, a bit too sharp. She seems tense in a way that could be explained by a number of factors, but Garak was right. They can’t let anything slip, no matter how small. 

Not when this involves Kessar warheads.

Jadzia’s about to ask for a drink of her own, when a loud, tipsy Bolian man wearing a white suit arrives at the bar, placing himself between the Vulcan and her. The Bolian grins at Julian, sliding his arm into the counter in an obvious attempt to show off his very expensive watch.

Jadzia’s eyebrows go up, and she stares at Julian. He nods, slowly. So this is the guy, huh.

_ “Hello,”  _ t he Bolian all but purrs. “Give me one of the usual.”

Julian smiles at him, a little tense. “A Tulaberry Cosmopolitan coming right up,” He turns to Jadzia. “Would you like to order anything, madam?”

“Just another piña colada, for now,” she answers, while the Bolian continues to stare at Julian. Jadzia frowns.

“So, have you thought about my offer, Lyles?” The Bolian asks, while Julian makes their drinks. “Risa is beautiful this time of the year, I’m sure you’d love it there,” his eyes travel through Julian’s arms and shoulders. “They could use a man of your talents, I’m certain. I know I could.”

Jadzia’s frown deepens. 

“Yes,” Julian replies. “And I’m sure your wife would appreciate it too.”

“Aw, her?” The Bolian dismisses it with a gesture. “She’s old news by now,” He says, leaning forward. “But you and I could be a whole new story, baby…”

He goes on like that for a while, making all sort of stupid promises and continued to oggle Julian in a way that’s making him and Jadzia growingly more umcomfortable. T’Paj stays seated, ignoring them but periodically looking around, like she’s waiting for someone. It could be a contact or her bondmate, Jadzia doesn’t know yet. It’s hard to get a read on her.

The agent sighs, a bit frustrated. Maybe spending so many hours locked inside a runabout with Garak was more tiring than she’d first realized.

“You know, Lyles?” the Bolian tells him, reaching for his cocktail with a glare. “I don’t understand you. First you’re all flirty with me, acting like a sweetheart, and then you go all cold on me.” He picks up the glass, taking a sip. “What’s your problem?”

Julian straightens his back. “I’m at work right now,” he says.

The Bolian lowers his glass. “That certainly didn’t stop you with that Ferengi, last night…”

Julian nearly drops the glass he’s cleaning.

That’s _ it. _

“I think Lyles would prefer that you leave him alone,” Jadzia tells the Bolian, a bit more forceful than what’s required for her character. 

The Bolian turns around, annoyed at first until he sees just who she is. “Well, hello there.” He smirks, leaning away from Julian and towards her. Jadzia can’t believe his nerve. “And who would you be, beautiful?”

“No one you should care about,” Jadzia answers coldly. Julian gives her an exasperated look, but she’s had enough of the guy. “You have your drink already, why don’t you go bother someone else? It’s a large hotel.”

“How about I bother you instead?” The Bolian asks, moving his hand towards Jadzia. The only reason she doesn’t break it is because she really can’t blow her cover. “Are you single? It’s not a problem if you aren’t-”

“Hey, mister,” a woman calls from behind them. “The lady asked you to leave.” Jadzia and the Bolian turn at her, and even T’Paj looks up. “And I would do it if I were you,” the Bajoran tells him with her arm crossed. She’s glaring at the Bolian with a strength that has the poor bastard shaking on his seat for a second. 

Jadzia’s very impressed. 

The guy says his apologies, before grabbing his drink and quickly scurrying away. The Bajoran takes his seat nonchalantly, and if Jadzia stares at her just a little bit it is because well, she’s  _ gorgeous _ . Her hair is short and reddish, her eyes are a deep shade of brown. Her golden earring dangles from her ear, whenever she moves her head. She’s wearing a green hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned over a white top that has an interlacing pattern right under her clavicle. Her lips are painted a nice, ruby red, but it’s more than that.

It’s the way she carries herself, Jadzia realizes, that she finds deeply attractive.

The Bajoran’s eyes meet hers, for a moment, and she smiles. Jadzia goes for her piña colada, a bit embarrassed to be caught staring. 

“Thank you so much for dealing with that guy,” Julian says, with genuine relief.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” the Bajoran replies. “I’m sure his last wife left him for a reason.” Jadzia snorts into her drink. 

“They came to the hotel, but she went back home after she caught him with one of the masseurs,” Julian tells them. “He’s been nothing but a bother for the past week, hasn’t he, T’Paj?” He glances at Jadzia, quickly.

Oh right, the Vulcan. She’d gotten distracted. Julian just smiles at his friend, a little amused. 

“I suppose so, Mr. Bahar,” the Vulcan answers. “Please prepare another one of these… Rillian melon daiquiris.”

“Of course,” Julian replies. “Would you ladies like anything? It’s on the house- whatever you want,” Julian lowers his voice, just a little. “A new shipment of  _ Klingon bloodwine _ arrived just today. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

Jadzia’s eyes widen, just a little. Okay, that… changes things. Not a lot though, they would be fools not to expect Klingons at the hotel already. Jadzia wonders who the sisters sent, though. 

“I’ll have to say no, sorry- I never had a palette for Klingon drinks other than raktajinos,” the Bajoran admits. “Do you have some spring wine?”

“Yes, we do,” Julian tells her. “I’ll bring a cup.”

“Make that two,” Jadzia says, finishing her drink. Julian nods, heading to the backroom to get the bottle. The Bajoran turns to look at her again, and  _ stars,  _ Jadzia almost forgot.

Some Bajoran factions were known to possess Kessar warheads, back in the day. 

The agent’s drink suddenly doesn’t taste as sweet.

“I didn’t catch your name,” The Bajoran asks, extending her hand at her. “I’m Kira.”

“Zia,” She replies, shaking it. “Say, Kira, are you part of the Bajoran Militia by any chance?”

Kira blinks. “How did you know?”

“That insignia on your shirt,” Jadzia says, gesturing at it, and Kira looks, remembering it’s there. She’s a Major, if Jadzia remembers correctly. “I recognized it from the Dominion War, my ship served close to Bajor.”

Dax was the one who’d done that, not Decker. Garak will probably complain about the change in Geran’s wife's backstory, but in this case, Dax thinks that some truth will serve her case better than a lie.

And the Vulcan suddenly seems very interested in the conversation.

“You fought in the war?” Kira says, a little impressed. Jadzia nods. “So you’re a Starfleet Officer.” 

“Ex-Officer,” she corrects. Julian brings them their glasses of spring wine, setting them in front of them. “I joined to be an art historian, you know? Active combat hadn’t been on my mind, when I enlisted.”

Or at least that’s what Emony did, before her amazing skills in gymnastics and combat made Starfleet Intelligence invite her to host the Dax symbiote. 

Kira drinks from her glass. “It’s not in anyone’s minds, to be a soldier.” 

Bajor had just been liberated a few years before the Dominion War started. If Kira was a freedom fighter, and Jadzia feels like she was, she probably won’t be happy to hear a prissy Federation woman talk about how surprised she was about how bad things could get.

So Jadzia takes another approach. “This spring wine is very good, but you know? I think I liked the one from Bajor better.” Kira looks at her. “I went down to the planet a couple of times- I particularly loved the Eastern province, it was so lush and wonderful.”

“Like Eden itself,” Ben had described it. Dax had to agree.

Kira smiles, and Jadzia has to pause for a second, because she looks  _ radiant  _ when she does. “Did you have time to see the bloom fields when you were there?” Jadzia nods. Kira sighs. “There’s no place like home… Where are you from? I didn’t think I catched it.”

Jadzia smiles back. “I’m Trill, if the spots didn’t give it away.” Kira looks at her, and Jadzia’s smile widens. She told Garak this outfit showed them off. “It’s rainier than Bajor, but it’s also a very green planet. I missed all the trees sometimes, when I was off-world.”

“I know, right?” Kira replies. “They try to have some plants onboard, but they always end up either relegating everything to a single, small arboretum, or worse-”

“-They place holographic pots all over the ship and insist on calling them real trees.” Jadzia finishes for her and Kira laughs. Jadzia leans forward. “So, why are you here, Kira? Looking for rest or a bit of fun?”

“A bit of both,” Kira admits. “A friend came here to find someone in particular and I decided I could use the vacations, so I tagged along.” She puts her cup down, sighing. “Work’s been… hard, these past couple of months. I needed a break from my superiors.”

The regret on her face looks… genuine and real. Dax is an expert at reading people, she’d know if something was amiss. She doesn’t think Kira’s here because of the warheads.

A quick glance at Julian, and he seems to agree. Jadzia smiles. 

“Don’t worry, my friend,” the agent assures her. “If it’s fun you want, I am your woman.” She looks up at Julian. “Lyles, bring us the whole bottle of spring wine.” Kira gives her a look. “What? He said it’s on the house.”

“Well,” Kira decides. “If it’s on the house…”

And so it goes, Jadzia spends the next three hours talking to Kira. She’s amazing- Jadzia can’t help but continue to just look at her, as they trade old war stories and share some more about their respective planets. Jadzia knows they’re flirting shamelessly, in front of a co-worker while they’re on an assignment no less, but what can’t she say?

Kira feels  _ electric _ , somehow, with the passionate way she talks about her world and her culture. The drinks loosen up her tongue a little, and she starts telling Zia about her work in a space station, about her family and friends, about her issues with her bosses and how her awkward work relationship turned into one of her most solid friendships with the guy that brought her here. It’s fun, just listening to her, in a way Jadzia hasn’t felt in a while.

Julian’s there, literally manning the bar, so Jadzia decides to relax for a while. It’s nice.

Although it’s hard not to get pulled into Kira’s magnetic energy, especially with the way she keeps looking right at Jadzia every time she takes a zip of wine. 

Jadzia likes it. A lot, if she’s being honest. 

T’Paj loses interest in their conversation, the more personal it gets. Still, she doesn’t leave the bar, and Jadzia keeps an eye on her, when she moves away from the counter and into one of the couches. She settles down there, pulling out a PAD to read. Julian brings her another couple of daiquiris, as the afternoon sun sets in, painting the sea with warm orange light.

A Klingon woman enters the bar, around the time Jadzia and Kira get through the entire bottle. She heads to talk to the Vulcan, sitting down next to her.

Jadzia and Julian share a look. Jadzia sighs, getting off her chair.

“It was very nice talking to you, Kira,” the agent says, meaning every word. “But I should get ready for tonight.” Kira furrows her brows, a bit disappointed. Jadzia gives her a smile, reaching for her hand. “Aw, don’t worry, we’ll be here all weekend, won’t be?”

“Yes, but-” Kira starts, but Jadzia catches the Klingon and T’Paj glancing at them. Jadzia leans towards Kira, and the other woman inhales sharply. “Zia…” 

“My room is number 437,” Jadzia whispers. The Klingon looks away, and Jadzia moves away. Kira’s blushing, staring at the Trill. “If you’d like to keep talking.”

“Talking,” Kira says. Jadzia laughs. “Yeah-I just might be interested.”

Jadzia leaves as calmly as she can, waving good-bye at Kira, who looks adorably at her while she walks away. Once in the hallway, and away from Lursa’s eyes, Jadzia rushes to their room.

Garak’s not going to like this development one bit.

* * *

Quark throws a small party on the beach that night to welcome everyone to his resort. Agent Dax and Garak barely have time to share their gathered intel and put together a plan.

“There’s a changeling in the hotel,” Garak tells her colleague at the same time she says, “The Duras sisters are in the hotel!”

The two look at each other and curse, because once again the agency sent them into a much more dangerous mission than they first realized with half of the preparations they need. 

“I’m going to issue a formal complaint to Admiral Sisko,” Garak swears. “His planning team can't be  _ this  _ imcompetent, the Obsidian Order would never have missed informing its agents of something so important!” Doctor Bashir had been alone in the same place as a Kessar warhead and the  _ maniacs  _ ready to use them!

“I’ll back you up on this one,” Dax says, a hand on her head. She takes a moment to think, before she speaks up again. “It’s okay, we can work around this. They don’t know we’re here yet or we would have a bat'leth stuck to our torsos already.” Garak glares at her. “We’ve been through worse missions, Garak; we won’t call this one quits just because they’re here.”

“You think I don’t know that, agent?!” he hisses. Dax’s eyebrows go up. So do his, for a moment. He hadn’t intended to sound quite so… genuinely panicked.

“Is everything alright?” she asks softly, moving to touch his shoulder. Garak lets her, just this time.

Intelligence didn’t give them enough information, but Agent Dax is right. The sisters don’t know they’re here, and they’ve gone through worse missions. 

But those assignments hadn’t included a weapon capable of destroying  _ millions of people.  _

So yes, perhaps Garak’s agitated, but that’s no reason to be overly demonstrative of his emotional state.

The Cardassian takes a deep breath. “No, agent, everything is not alright. I wasted very valuable time trying to get information out of a large, bald Lurian who wouldn’t stop talking,” he tells her, more composed. Jadzia pats his shoulder, before letting go. “What else did you find out at the bar?”

Jadzia tells him everything about the Bajoran woman and the Bolian harassing Bashir. Garak frowns, taking a mental note to make sure that when the man leaves the hotel, all of his luggage gets lost in the Gamma quadrant. Jadzia tells him how one of the Duras sisters talked to T’Paj, personally.

“The Vulcans are definitely working with them,” Garak concludes. “What do you make of the changeling? Could the Dominion be behind this?” If there’s one of them, there could be more in the resort.

Dax shakes her head. “It would be too obvious. And the Founders wouldn’t risk another incident, not while Starfleet still holds one of them as a prisoner.” That they hadn’t executed the Female Changeling is still one of the main reasons Garak disapproves of the Federation. Cardassia should have been the one to try her for her crimes against his people.

“I don’t think I should get close to the Klingons, this time,” Dax says. “Tobin visited Vulcan a few times, though.” 

It’s a shame Bashir can’t help them with this part of the mission, he’s usually very good at befriending Vulcans, for obvious reasons. 

“You should focus on T’Paj, agent,” Garak concludes. “Geran designed a line of Klingon wedding dresses and other outfits fairly recently. Perhaps one of the sisters will be interested.”

The duo shows up fashionably late to the beach, mainly because while Garak’s outfits are designed to hold a dozen knives at the very least, Dax’s dress needed some adjustments to be able to conceal another phaser. Garak takes a look around, when they arrive.

A buffet has been set on the sand, as well as seats and tables. There’s even a dance floor, illuminated by strings of lights that hang above it, being used by some of the couples as a band consisting of a couple of Ferengi, a human woman, and  _ that _ Lurian, play some jazz. The people intermingle, talking and laughing, asking for drinks from the makeshift bar right at the edge of the torches, where Doctor Bashir tries to keep up with the orders.

Garak inhales sharply, looking at him for the first time in weeks. Agent Dax smirks, and some of the other guests turn at them, probably because they look like they came out of a high fashion holo magazine. Garak feels proud of this particular ensemble- they’re both wearing a matching shade of blue, Dax on a flowy dress and Garak on a shirt with quite the revealing neckline. 

It brings out their eyes, what can he say. 

Bashir looks up at them, surprised. Garak smiles at him, but only because it goes with his character. Geran could probably wink at the handsome man, if he wanted.

Garak and Dax stay together for a while, engaging in mindless conversation with other guests until they find who they’re looking for. T’Paj is with her bondmate, although Garak seriously doubts they’re actually bonded, engaging in what appears to be a very enlightening conversation with a Denobulan couple. Dax touches Garak’s arm and goes to them, while Garak heads for his own target. 

Lursa of the House of Duras is sitting alone, by a table, holding her drink and glaring at everyone. Garak has to admit, she’s quite the intimidating woman. Her sleeveless top shows off her toned arms, and the diamond-shaped window to her chest is meant as an invitation for anyone to try and come stab her there if they can, if Garak remembers correctly, and it's only reserved for the most skilled of warriors. She’s also proudly displaying her  _ d'k tahg _ knife at her hip, which does serve as a good accessory for her skirt.

Garak hopes he’s as well versed in Klingon fashion as he remembers. 

“Hello, dear,” he says, walking up to her. “I couldn't help but notice that you are wearing a pair of the most lovely Sons of Ga'ath heels I have ever seen. I hope you don’t mind sharing just where in the galaxy you got them?”

Lursa looks him up and down, huffing. “What would a Cardassian like you want with a Klingon line of shoewear? Your kind isn’t known for having taste.”

Garak grins. “Oh, you don’t know this Cardassian. I’ve admired the Sons of Ga’ath’s style for  _ decades _ .” They also happen to be one of the few Klingon Noble Houses backing up the dishonored House of Duras, and no self-respecting warrior of the Empire would wear any of their designs. “My wife has been trying to get a pair of their heels for months now. I think they would make the most amazing of anniversary gifts, thus, I’m interested in where you purchased them.”

“They have an online store that ships to the whole quadrant,” Lursa spits at him. “Now get lost.”

Okay, time for a different approach.

“I didn’t think I introduced myself,” Garak says. “I am Regnar Geran,” Lursa gives him a look, Garak keeps smiling. “One of my dresses was worn by Sargesh, Daughter of Gorsh, on her wedding into the House of Evok.”

Lursa’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, you’re that designer everyone’s talking about, back in the Korvat System,” Garak nods, mentaly writing that comment down. 

Korvat System, huh? That might be important, at a later date. 

The Klingon lowers her shoulder, her snarl just the tiniest bit less aggressive. “Well, Mr. Geran, I have to say I do like your dresses,” she continues. “They’re good, for a Cardassian.” 

“Thank you, my dear,” Garak replies, turning his smile into something sweeter. “You know? I recently started working on a line of casual clothes for Klingons, and I’ve been looking for models to wear it,” Lursa looks up. “You would be perfect for the job!”

Lursa’s face breaks into a smile. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do, my dear, your hair is gorgeous! It would look dazzling during a fashion show,” he tells her. If Garak’s learned anything about Klingons from Agent Worf, is that they’re an incredibly proud and fussy bunch when it comes to their luscious locks. Lursa proves to be no exception, as she passes as hand through her dark main, giving Garak a coy look. “I could put you on the front cover of the most important holozines of Qo’noS, my dear, what do you say?”

And for a second, Lursa looks like she’s really going to fall for the oldest trick in the book, up until she looks at something over Garak’s shoulder, and lets out the longest string of Klingon curses he’s ever heard. Agent Worf would faint at such use of his language. 

“I told that big-eared piece of Targ shit to stop flirting with the help when he should be keeping an eye on the guests!” she yells, and Garak turns around, half prepared to knock over a table and take cover from phaser fire because Agent Dax decided to be reckless again when he sees it.

On the other side of the dance floor, a Ferengi with an outrageous bright pink suit is leaning across the counter, touching Doctor Bashir’s arm and grinning at him provocatively. He’s saying something to the doctor, but at this distance Garak can’t make out what.

All the blood drains from Garak’s face for a second. 

Lursa leaves his side, fuming and saying something about never trusting someone to do a job you can do yourself. While she does that, Bashir smiles back at Quark, leaning forward into the touch. 

The doctor is lavishing on the attention, as the Ferengi arm travels to his shoulder, squeezing it just slightly. 

Garak turns away, huffing, more annoyed at his own reactions than anything else.

This is all part of the assignment. They’ve done this a hundred times before. So what if the Lurian said that his friend had been visiting the new bartender at night all week, it just meant that Bashir was doing his job correctly.

Garak should be  _ happy  _ that the doctor has the target so wrapped around his finger. Yes, it was rather… disturbing to see the grubby hands of that disgusting little man all over an esteemed colleague, but it was all for the good of the mission.

If Elim heads for the buffet instead of mingling some more with the couples to gather more intel, well, that is his prerogative and it’s absolutely not work-related.

The resort has Delavian chocolate truffles and he’s only Cardassian.

Apparently, he’s not the only one with a desire for something sweet right now, because he finds the Bajoran woman from earlier today putting two slices of Tuwaly pie into her plate.

Their eyes meet again, and Garak’s eyes widen, just a little.

He remembers who she is.

Well, this certainly complicates the mission further. And he must have looked at her for a bit too long, because she puts the plate down and glares at him.

“I don’t care if I remind you of a dabo girl you used to know back in the day or something like that, if you try to hit on me I  _ will  _ break your arm,” Major Kira Nerys of the Bajoran Militia kindly informs him. Garak has to bite his tongue not to answer sarcastically, like he would when it was just Damar and a Bajoran similar to her back in Mila's basement.

It is at times like this when he really, really misses Cardassia, even just the shadow of its former self he saw during the rebellion.

“I am a married man, so I assure you,  _ madam _ , I have no interest in hitting on you!” Garak answers, playing up his offended tone because Geran takes his fictitious fidelity to his fictitious wife very, very seriously.

“Sure, you don’t,” Kira replied bitterly. “Your  _ kind  _ isn’t exactly known for faithfulness to their spouses…” 

Actually, the average Cardassian is far more monogamous than that, seeing as they tend to be rather possessive as a race. But since the major probably only has military men as a frame of reference, he can’t blame her for assuming otherwise.

Dukat was, and stays as, the single biggest piece of Targ shit in the entire quadrant.

“I came here with my wife,” Garak elaborates, serious. “For our anniversary.” The major gives him an unimpressed look. Garak sighs, resigned. “Look, miss, I just came here to get some of the I’danian spice pudding you’re standing in front of, but if my mere presence is truly such a bother to you, I can find something else to eat.”

Major Kira seems a bit taken aback by his tired tone. Garak didn’t have to play that part up. He probably looks dejected enough because of… reasons he’d rather not disclose. Pair that with the amount of desserts on his plate, and he does look exhausted but utterly harmless.

It’s also an art of his, by now.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Kira moves away, a bit embarrassed. “I thought you looked familiar…”

Garak freezes for a second, but he then smiles at her. “It’s no problem,” he says. “It must be because I'm a famous fashion designer.” He tries to just grab his pudding and leave, but now that the major has decided that he isn’t a threat, she’s going to unleash all of her Bajoran warmth on him as some sort of apology.

“-No, I really  _ am  _ sorry,” Kira continues, stepping in front of Garak. “I didn’t mean to offend, maybe you really are here with your wife, just trying to have a nice dinner after a long trip, and suddenly I came out of nowhere and ruined your night.” Garak nods, glazing at Dax across the room. The agent is still enthusiastically talking to the Vulcan couple, or as enthusiastically as one can talk to a race of aliens who consider any show of emotion as a cultural faux-pas. “I am sorry, I should know better than to mark down all Cardassian males as creeps by now. This is not even the first time something like this happens. It’s just that, well, I was a freedom fighter...”

“I see,” He says. “Truely, miss, it’s no problem- you are Bajoran. The confusion is very understandable, although I’ve been a Federation citizen for years now.”

That Admiral Sisko presented Garak the offer to become one after working for Starfleet for half a decade has to be one of the most insulting things that has happened to him in recent memory.

“Exactly!” Kira tells him, punching him on the arm like they’re old war buddies, and Garak blinks, smelling her breath. Is the major… inebriated?. “You are out here wanting to have a nice time! People shouldn’t be bothering you with this, calling you a dirty spoonhead just because you happen to be Cardassian, you know? I knew some good Cardassians, and some very bad Cardassians- hell, I even sort of adopted a half Cardassian myself!” Garak’s smile is turning tenser with the second. She’s definitely been drinking, but she’s not nearly that under the influence as one might think. Still, any tipsy person who vaguely recognizes him is always a big problem. “Her name is Ziyal, she’s an artist, I’m very proud of her. Do you have kids, mister uh...?”

“Geran,” Garak says. “And no, I don’t have any kids.” The O’Briens tried to have a family, in their field, and needless to say, it hasn’t gone without a hitch.

There was a time when Garak felt like he was going to snap the neck of the next ensign who made another joke about that one time Agent Bashir had to carry the chief’s baby.

“Geran?” Major Kira asks. “And you like spice pudding?” Garak exhales, because really, this was inevitable, wasn’t it? “That’s very interesting, I knew another Cardassian man around your age who liked spice pudding too and whose name also started with a G-”

Kira pauses, her eyebrows going up as the words die in her throat. Garak would find it almost funny, if this didn’t endanger the entire operation.

He glances up, trying to catch Agent Dax’s attention one last time before this escalates, but the Bajoran worm-hole aliens prove once again that they despise one single Cardassian spy.

“It’s you!” Kira exclaims. “You’re that creepy tailor Laren befriended during-”

“While I knew Lieutenant Ro back in the day,  _ major _ ,” Garak cuts her off before she can reveal just where they met to the entire resort. “I wouldn’t say we ever befriended each other.” They were begrudging acquaintances at best.

“Bullshit, she told me you became drinking buddies. Your mother even told her embarrassing stories about you,” She replies, and Garak grits his teeth, cursing Mila for a moment. And then another realization dawns on Kira. “Wait- you know who I am?”

Garak’s the one giving her an unimpressed look this time. “A certain Bajoran officer wouldn’t stop complaining about you.” Or moping, for that matter. It had been rather pathetic, especially during the last days of the war. 

He finds that he empathizes more with Lieutenant Ro now, than he did back then.

Kira’s face pales. “What did she tell you?!” 

“I’m afraid nothing I’m at liberty to divulge,” Garak replies.

The woman glares at him with an intensity that couldn’t be matched by anyone from the Orion syndicate.  _ This _ , Garak can be properly intimidated by. “I swear, Cardassian, if you’re making this up just to mess with me, I’m going to rip every scale off your body-”

“-How funny, I remember the dear lieutenant using that same threat!” He says. “Apparently a spring-ball racquet wasn’t the only thing you stole from your ex-”

“I did  _ not  _ steal that racquet!” She insists. “And you’re one to talk, Mister Geran, if that’s even your real name, Laren told me all about your strange medical kink or whatever-”

Garak’s neck flushed. “You will cease this slander of my person in this instant!”

“Or so what, Mr. Tailor?” Kira smirks. “You’re gonna hem my pants badly? Ruin all of my wardrobe?”

The agent huffs, looking up and down her attire. “With all due respect, major, I really cannot see how  _ this  _ could be ruined further...”

The insult to her fashion sense must be the final straw, because Kira reaches for Garak’s arm. The agent drops all of his plate into the sand and some of it on himself, trying to shake her off. 

“You take that back!” she demands. “I look great in Hawaiian shirts!”

“Really, major, you’re causing a scene-”

_ “You _ ’re causing a scene!”

Their ruckus starts to attract enough attention that Dax finally sees it fit to intervene. The Trill walks up to them, among all the guests talking about them, and breaks them apart. “Hey, hey, stop it you two!” she says, and Garak glares at her, for taking so long. 

Although something must be said about the fact that not even an ex-freedom fighter threatening to descale Garak was enough to shake Doctor Bashir off his newest conquest.

“Are you okay?” Agent Dax asks, concerned. Her voice is that low, sultry tone, and she glances at the Bajoran. Kira nods, and Garak feels even more offended. Oh yes, check on her, never mind that she assaulted the colleague you’ve been working with for years. “What happened here?”

“I was just trying to enjoy the dessert table, dearest,” Garak says, cleaning the chocolate mouse off his shirt, furious. He glares at the Bajoran- this was authentic Tholian silk! “When this woman decided to throw herself at me!”

Kira glares at him, accommodating her atrociously patterned shirt. “He started it! He brought up my ex, Zia, that’s a low blow for anyone-” She blinks, turning to Dax. “Wait, did he just call you ‘ _ dearest’?!” _

Dax smiles, apologetic. Garak looks at her. Dax's smile tightens, just a little. Garak resists the urge to groan. So  _ she's  _ the woman from the bar.

As if this assignment could turn any worse. They really don’t need to add Agent Dax’s… weakness for lovely ladies to the mix. 

“Yes,  _ dearest _ ,” Garak remarks, and Dax glares at him. He gives her a look as an ultimatum. Either she tells her or he will.

Kira’s looking back and forth between them, her mouth open.

“He’s my darling husband…” Dax tells Kira, who pauses, before clenching her fists and giving her an utterly  _ betrayed  _ look. The major yells at his coworker for a while, but Garak doesn’t really pay any attention to the argument.

On the other side of the party, Quark offers Bashir his hand, across the bar. The doctor pauses for a second, before putting his apron away and taking it. The Ferengi leads him away from the torches and the lights and leads him into the sand, where the darkness meets the sea.

Garak lowers his shoulders, his throat growing dry. The major leaves, fuming. 

“What a bummer...” Agent Dax says, standing beside him. “I did like her, you know?”

“That is none of my concern, agent, I told you we weren’t here for shoreleave,” Garak tells her, more cutting than necessary. “Please tell me you were more successful with your target than I was.”

Despite her recent disappointment, Jadzia grins. “More than successful- I hope you like ballroom dancing, because I signed us up for the same class as the Vulcans.”


	3. Aldebaran Whiskey Sour

Garak tries to get into the hotel’s database that night, and Julian also shows up to talk with his partners. Both of these things don’t go as well as Jadzia was expecting.

Their suite is a dream come true to her after their time spent in that Klingon colony. The bathtub is to die for and the replicators are filled with all kinds of exotic dishes. They have a separate living room section with coaches and a holo screen that stares out into the balcony, with a marvelous view of the pool. The walls are painted a light shade of orange that matches the rest of the hotel’s aesthetic, with the abstract art and the curtains flowing with the sea breeze, giving the room an almost ethereal feel.

Has Jadzia mentioned the bed? Because it’s queen sized and it feels like _clouds._

But of course Garak is choosing to be grumpy about it. 

Her partner is sitting on the wooden floor surrounded by his tools. Garak opened the tech panel from the replicator and he connected a cable from it to the PADD that Intelligence had designed specially for him. Jadzia, who just came out from a very long and satisfying bath, has to stop for a second to stare at the mess. 

“The system is using Cardassian encryption codes mixed with the coding language of at least four different planets,” Garak informs her, with horror and awe. “Whoever pieced this together is either a genius, or an amateur who barely knows what they’re doing…”

“Knowing Ferengis, it’s probably both,” Jadzia answers while she finishes drying her hair with her towel. “Can you crack it, though?”

“Of course I can,” he replies, just a little offended and the insinuation that he couldn't. “But it will take much longer than we had originally planned and as you know, agent, time is of the essence.” 

Jadzia sighs. Kessar warheads, why did it have to be Kessar warheads?

“Is the replicator still working, at least?” she asks. She didn’t really have time to enjoy the buffet, between sweet-talking T’Paj and prying you away from the Kira. Garak nods, returning his PADD to adjust the Federation tech to interface with the Cardassian systems. 

The agent’s mood sours, remembering some of the things that the major had screamed at her. Her reaction had been completely understandable, but it had still hurt, more than a little bit.

Jadzia wraps her towel around her hair and carefully steps through the tools on the floor. “Two pieces of toasted galzak bread with spiced jelly on top,” she orders, and then adds, “And two cups of raktajino.”

While she has dinner, Garak finishes coding a routine to decimate through the Ferengi’s firewall and level 7 clearance, but it will take a couple of hours. So Jadzia finally asks the two things she’s been dying to know for the whole night.

“How do you even know Kira Nerys?” she says. “And what the hell happened between you and Julian?” Garak opens his mouth, probably to tell her that neither of her things are none of her concern, but Jadzia cuts him off with one of those death glares that Audrid got down to a science. “Both of these things have had a direct effect on the assignment so far, Garak, don’t think I didn’t notice just why you failed with your target. And your little fight with the major caught too much attention and potentially burned the bridges of someone who could have otherwise been an _ally_. I checked Kira’s file- she’s worked with Starfleet before, we could have roped her into helping us just by showing her our badges. If it had gotten more out of hand, you could have blown our cover completely and who knows what would have happened with the mission!”

Garak lowers his shoulders, his sad, blue eyes on her. He looks properly chastised, and Jadzia feels a little guilty.

She _hates_ talking to him like this, like she’s his superior instead of his equal, and she’s scolding him for a flaw that not even she is immune to. Dax knows how the Obsidian Order trains their agents, how they make weapons and not people. She’s seen what happens, when Starfleet tried to do the same, and there’s a reason Joran became a killer. 

But sometimes, this is the only way to make him _listen_.

“I…” Garak starts, his hands tightening on the PADD. “You are right... I’m sorry, agent, I should have handled the situation better. Such a slip caused by sentiment was inexcusable. It will not happen again.”

Not happening again is not what Jadzia’s trying to accomplish here. 

“It’s okay, Garak,” Jadzia says, moving her hand on his shoulder. Garak stares at it, a bit taken aback. 

He thinks that Jadzia doesn’t understand all the tiny nuisances of Cardassian body language and all the meanings they convey through it, but Torias learned more than a couple of things from Iloja. Hands on shoulders are seen as invitations of a romantic nature, but Jadzia always places her hand a few inches below that, more on the seam of Garak’s sleeve and on his arm.

 _“I’m a friend,”_ the touch says, _“I have your back.”_

Despite how much he complains about Federation unnecessary casualness, Garak has never tried to move away. 

Jadzia likes to think that deep down, he considers her a friend too. 

“I might even know how to solve the problem, you know?” she tells me. “You just have to give me something to work with.” Garak pauses, considers it for a second. His hands tighten on his PADD once more, but he puts it down and he nods. Jadzia smiles brightly. 

He’ll probably not even give her the whole truth, and he’s probably only going to do it because he’s actually concerned about the mission and his ability to handle… whatever it is Julian is doing, which is a testament to how much he actually fears the warheads and whatever he saw them do. 

But, he’s finally opening it up, which is so rare that Jadzia’s actually considering actually opening a bottle of Kanar to celebrate!

And that’s when, of course, the Porthos to their Aramis and Athos bursts into the room with the subtlety he’s known for.

There’s a loud crash on the balcony, followed by a string of very British curses, and Jadzia and Garak share a look. Agent Julian Bashir waltzes into the room with his bartender attire covered in sand and dirt, as he pulls leaves out of his hair. 

“Couldn’t you guys have chosen a room that was easier to climb up too?” He asks, huffing just a little bit, and Jadzia would be very glad to see him, if Garak’s entire face hadn’t just turned into a grimace.

“As if anyone would be stupid enough to try and get here through the outside walls,” the Cardassian says. “What took you so long?”

Julian dusts himself off and nonchalantly sits on one of the coaches. “The sisters’ men are patrolling the hallways, and they didn’t exactly believe that I was just bringing up a cocktail for a very special resident,” he explains, and Jadzia notices he’s sweating and panting. It could have been just from climbing, but in her experience, it takes much more than that to actually tire him out. “It’s good to see you guys,” he says, and Jadzia can’t help but smile.

“It’s good to see you too,” she answers. “How’s your health?” He’d just recovered from inhaling tyr gas the last time they saw him, after all.

“Good, but I still probably shouldn’t get into a fight with a Klingon any time soon,” he continues. “There’s just about ten of them on the hotel, plus the sisters, the rest of their people are on a base a couple of miles away from here, or on a warbird orbiting the planet.”

Garak blinks. “Base? Your reports did not mention any base.” 

“I know,” Julian says grimly. “That is because Quark just showed it to me.”

The team takes a second to just let that sink in. Jadzia wants to groan in frustration. She’s going to request one month of shore leave from Ben after they’re done with this mission.

“Is there anything else that Quark told you?” Jadzia asks, because she knows Garak won’t.

Julian smiles, in that way that tells them to get ready because he's about to go full info-dumping mode. “Quark’s helping them unwillingly- an old friend of his, Grilka of the House of her own name, was blackmailed into aiding the House of Duras on their newest plot to overthrow the High Council. Grilka called in a favor from Quark, and now he has to let the sisters conduct their business in his hotel,” he explains. Grilka? The name sounds familiar. “The sisters don’t tell him as much as the agency was hoping they would, but I’ve been able to uncover a couple of important things in my time here. I take it you’ve meet T’Paj already.”

“Yes,” Jadzia says. “I have.”

“She’s been here all week,” Julian continues. “She rarely leaves her room, and I’ve never seen her without that PADD she always carries around. Quark is convinced that she’s not only the contact selling them the weapons, but that she’s also a foreign agent _posing_ as a Vulcan.”

There’s a pause there. Jadzia furrows her brows. At first she’d placed T’Paj and her bondmate as simple traitors to the Federation, but now that Julian mentions it…

“I didn’t get a psionic field from them,” Jadzia mentions, and her partners turn to her. She explains. “While Trills aren’t as telepathic as other races, we do generate our own tiny fields of telepathic energy and thus can communicate through it in a limited way. That’s how most of us can participate in the _zhian'tara_ ritual, despite not being hosts.” It’s more complicated than that, and there’s very fascinating studies that try to explain how Trills experience telepathy differently than say, Betazoids, but that’s for another day. “The point is that we can at least sense when we’re around someone who’s also got telepathy. Bonded and unbonded Vulcans alike usually give off their own field, but I didn’t sense anything from the pair. They felt like how I feel around humans.”

“So they may indeed not even be Vulcan,” Garak finishes for her. “How interesting. We’ll have to look into this tomorrow.” He turns to Bashir. “Anything else your… _Ferengi_ told you?

Julian’s face turns serious, for a moment, his nose wrinkling with anger. “Lursa and B’Etor don’t want to use the warheads on Qo'noS like the agency thought,” he says. “They’re planning to bomb a _civilian_ outpost. I don’t know why, and I don’t know where, but their goal is to stage the bombings to make them look as if they were the Federation’s fault. They want to cause a diplomatic conflict between the two powers unlike anything that we’ve seen since the Dominion War.”

Jadzia inhales sharply. Garak, on the other hand, doesn’t even look surprised.

“I seriously doubt the High Council will be so foolish as to think their greatest ally would unprovokedly attack one of their outposts in a maneuver so uncharacteristic of Starfleet,” the Cardassian assures his partners. “But that doesn’t mean the sisters aren’t stupid enough to still go through with their deranged plan.”

“I agree,” Jadzia crosses her arms. “Our first priority should be to assess who the Vulcans are, if they aren’t Vulcan, and try to get a look at T’Paj’s PADD if we can. Our second priority has to be finding more about the Klingon base.” They could always walk up to it, but Jadzia knows how dangerous Klingons can be if they decide you’re an enemy, so she’ll suggest that as a last resort. “Julian, do you think Quark would be willing to talk with us, at some point? You haven’t told him who you actually are, right?”

Julian slumps his shoulders. “I uh… I actually kind of have.” 

Jadzia pauses. That… hadn’t been on his reports either.

“You can’t be serious,” Garak tells him. “I don’t care how enamored you are with your new Ferengi, you can’t take a target’s words at face value!”

“He can be trusted, I swear!” Julian insists. “Or well, he can be trusted, at least on this. And don’t look at me like that, Garak, I made the right call. He opened up for real, after I told him. He’s firmly on our side, thanks to my charms.”

Garak continues to glare. “Oh, your _charms_ indeed, doctor…”

Jadzia frowns. Okay, she’s seriously starting to hate this.

Julian and Garak arguing is a normal part of their assignments, at this point. It made so much sense, after Miles informed her that that’s just how Cardassians flirt, but it’s not usually quite so… hostile.

Jadzia’s afraid that Garak’s actually going to bite Julian’s head off.

Julian simply raises his head. “You lost any right you had to complain about how I handle myself with my targets if I remember correctly, Garak, so I’d try to focus on my part of the assignment, if I were you,” he hisses right back. “You were, after all, ready to throw hands with a Bajoran over a spice pudding just a few hours ago.” 

Jadzia’s eyebrows go up. Okay, so she should be more worried about Julian’s biting Garak’s head off instead.

Garak’s ridges flush just a little, whether it is from anger or embarrassment, Jadzia can’t tell. “I assure you it wasn’t over something so trivial as a _pudding_ , doctor!” he defends himself, and Jadzia snorts. Garak gives her a look, then returns to what he was saying. “I’m afraid that she recognized me from my life, back in the day.”

The agents freeze, for a moment.

“How back in the day?” Julian asks. If Kira knows or at least suspects that Garak worked with the Obsidian Order, well… they’re pretty much screwed. 

Garak sighs, because he really can’t avoid this, can he? “I was… acquainted with a former lover of hers, during the war.” Jadzia relaxes. Ah, so he just means Damar’s rebellion. That’s less incriminating to know, Garak has been many things, but he was never a Dominion sympathizer. 

Julian, however, still doesn’t look convinced. And so Garak adds, “Nothing that can be traced back to our current employers, don’t worry. She’s harmless, really. I doubt that the major will pose a problem for us, now that she’s done with Agent Dax.”

Jadzia pouts. “Thank you for rubbing that in, pal.”

“You’re welcome.”

Julian sighs, getting up from the coach. “Well, if that was everything, I should get going,” he tells them. “That wall isn’t going to climb itself down, after all. Did you guys finish the scans on this floor?”

“I did,” Garak says. “There was a changeling, close to that room. We also have to look at that, the Founders might be involved in a plot to take over the Alpha quadrant yet again.”

“A changeling?” Julian asks, as he walks to the balcony again. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about him. He’s as harmless as your Bajoran.”

Garak furrows his eye ridges. “What makes you so sure?”

“Quark said so,” Julian tells him.

The Cardassian huffs. “And you trust what he says on this as well?”

“Of course I do,” the human replies with a smirk. “I am _enamored_ with him after all, aren’t I?”

Garak doesn’t know how to reply to that, and neither does Jadzia.

Julian leaves like he entered. Jadzia’s still speechless. Garak moves to check on his PADD, still connected to the replicator, and he sighs, exhausted.

“It might take all night to crack this,” he says, and Jadzia does groan this time.

* * *

Kira slams the door shut as she walks into the suite. The Bajoran unbuttons her Hawaiian shirt, throwing it to the ground as she slips her sandals off. The changeling just barely looks up from the holonovel he’s reading. “So I take it things didn’t go well at the buffet,” he says. 

She almost wants to laugh. “No, Odo, they didn’t go well at all.” Just like everything else in her life right now.

General Harug’s words are still playing on Kira’s mind, still after two weeks. “Look, Nerys, you know everyone here has always respected both, your temper and your commitment to this space station.” Kira had opened her mouth to protest, but her superior had raised her hand, silencing her. “No one has ever doubted that. But I cannot look away from what you did this time.”

Kira had punched a Cardassian who’d tried to grab her shoulder on the promenade. She’d been sure that he’d been another of those Union ex-soldiers scouring the wormhole like voles, trying to make it into the Gamma Quadrant to escape from everything he did to this one.

She’d been wrong.

“Mister Pril said he’d be dropping the charges,” General Harug continued. “But the people at the top aren’t pleased, Nerys,” her eyes had softened, through the transmission. “This is the third incident this year.”

Incident. They keep calling it that, oh, just another incident. 

Kira Nerys didn’t survive both the Occupation and the Dominion War to become an _incident._

“They want me to resign,” Kira said, because it was the truth. After everything she’d gone through for- for Bajor and this station, they want her to resign.

“I never said that,” Harug protested. “But they might be right about other things.”

Kira bit her tongue not to start yelling at her.

The Bajoran Council had never been the biggest fan of hers. And neither was Starfleet. Bajor was slowly starting the process of becoming a Federation member, the Militia would be absorbed into Starfleet, and Kira had made the mistake of voicing her opinion against it one top many times.

Bajor wanted a new age of prosperity and galactic commerce. Bajor wanted an image of the blooming fields of the Eastern provinces and to turn the station Kira had defended during the War into a tourist attraction.

Bajor didn’t want the dust of Dahkur farmlands and the angry girl still fighting with nightmares.

Which was why talking to Zia had been so refreshing. As the two veterans shared wine in that bar, trading stories and making eachother laugh without shying away from their time as soldiers, for the first time in a long while, Kira had felt not only normal, but _welcomed._

They’d simply clicked. Nerys had thought they could have something here, maybe beyond just a weekend romance.

The general had been right, Kira hadn’t loosened up in a long while. Not since Laren left, anyway, and even that relationship had been more screaming at eachother and angrily making out over desks than anything close to relaxing. She’d tried again with other women, but they didn’t get her like Ro had, even if she’d driven Kira mad.

“The thing about being with you, Nerys,” her ex-girlfriend had told her once. “Is that trying to hold you is like trying to hold a flame- you’re so warm and caring that sometimes I forget how much of a burning pain in my ass you can be.”

Now, there’s an implication Kira resented. 

Just like Kira resented being led on by a married woman, who was married to a Cardassian no less.

And the _prissiest_ fucking Cardassian she’d ever met at that.

“Hey, Odo,” Kira asks as she lays on her bed, because she’s still a little drunk. The room came with two twin sized ones, but they brought a bucket for a reason. “You don’t think my Hawaiian shirts look bad, do you?”

Ziyal had sent them to her, when she heard Kira was taking a vacation. She didn’t know why Kira was taking one in the first place, but after how hard a time the kid had settled down in her art academy, Kira didn’t want to worry her just because she’d been having a hard time at work.

Odo lowers his PADD. “Why do you ask that?”

Kira doesn’t pout. “A stupid Cardassian insulted them.”

“I see,” he says calmly. “I think they’re adequate, for the location.”

Not for the first time, Kira wonders why her closest friendship ended up being with a being that found everything but cheesy mystery books boring.

“Well, I think they look great,” she insists. “And I’m going to keep wearing them, screw the Cardassian.” And screw his gorgeous, beautiful wife too. 

“Did you notice anything suspicious about this Cardassian?” Odo inquires.

“He knew my goddamn ex- there’s nothing more suspicious than that…” Kira grumbles. She knows he’s here for an investigation and she was the one who just decided to tag along, but doesn’t the goo’s pursuit of justice rest for even five minutes?

“Which ex?”

She glares at him. “Which one do you think?”

“Ah, Lieutenant Ro then,” Odo types something into his PADD. Kira groans. “Was there a Trill female with him by any chance?”

“Yes, there was, and she broke my heart.” They could have had great sex but _no_ , Zia had to be married to a lizard. 

“I’m sure she did, Nerys-” There's a beep coming from his PADD and Odo looks down at it, harrumphing. “Well, my suspicions have been confirmed, at least.”

Kira yawns. “What suspicions?”

“I will tell you tomorrow, when you are more sober,” he says, but Kira isn’t paying attention. The bed is very, very soft. 

“You don’t think they’re mixed with your Ferengi’s stupid schemes, are they?” she mentions, because she technically did promise that she’d at least try to keep an eye out on Odo’s… it’s-complicated-guy. “I saw him groping a bartender- I don’t think he’s actually up to something this time, Odo.”

“Quark is _always_ up to something,” he reassures her. Kira gets into the covers, and Odo stands up, putting his PADD away.

“I do like your Hawaiian shirts, Nerys,” he says, moving across the room. “I’m sure you will find another female solid to spend your time with during the weekend.”

“Thanks, Odo, you're a good friend,” Kira smiles, as he turns off the light, to let her rest. “I’m sure you’ll capture your Quark, this time….”

The changeling hopes he does. What the Ferengi got involved with his time might just be his stupidest scheme yet.

* * *

Despite how many James Bond holos he and Felix had played with during their time at the academy, Julian had never really liked honeypotting missions. They were more complicated that they seemed for one, and in real life you rarely got to get the key after kissing the girl. 

No, there was always something else involved. Be it latinum, or debts, or the occasional revenge plot, people hardly followed the agent along just because he’d smiled prettily at them.

“Actual seduction is much more than that, doctor,” Garak had explained to him back on their first mission like this, when Julian had been the one to do all of the talking to the target as it is. They’d been a team back then, but not quite friends yet, and Julian had been too busy being infatuated with both of his partners to notice the target had been the one stringing _him_ along as it was. “It’s a much more mental art than it is physical. You have to figure out just what the other person actually wants, and offer it to them in a way they won’t be able to resist.”

Julian always felt nostalgia, remembering how mysterious Garak tried to act back in the first two years of their relationship. His friend was still an enigma, and Julian was still infatuated of course, but Garak had actually put effort into maintaining his cryptic air back then. Jadzia had seen right through it, but Julian, who was still somewhat new to the whole intelligence business, had been _fascinated_. 

And then the Wire Incident happened, and their dynamic shifted to something that Julian holds more dear today.

“Doesn’t this,” Julian had said on Imaga IV, coughing on the ground. “Somewhat reminds you of what happened to one of the characters of _Crimson Shadow?_ ” Lying breathless in an underground maze of a dungeon with no opportunity for rescue after some torture- yes, it sounded like something straight from a Cardassian novel. “Our escape was-” another cough “-Much more eventful, though…”

“Really, doctor?” Garak replied, giving him a look. His face was pale, his eyes were bloodshot and he was also breathing heavily. The tyr gas had done a number on him- Julian would have taken a look at him, if he wasn’t so dizzy. “You are suffering from severe blood loss, and you’re still complaining about Preloc?”

“You made me read,” Julian inhaled and exhaled, his lungs hurting with every breath. “Seven hundred pages of a war chronicle where nothing happened except praising the state-” He coughed again. “-Yes, Garak, I’m going to complain about it until my dying breath…”

Garak grimaced. “You really think you’re going to die then?” he asked, like he didn't know the answer. 

Even if Worf’s distress signal had gotten out, Julian would be needing a shot of adrenergic albuterol in case the bronchoconstriction worsened even more. His heartbeat had been irregular for the last ten minutes, and even if he somehow managed to get his lungs working again by sheer force of will, without immediate attention his chest wound and the poison in his system would end up killing him in the next few hours.

“I’m sorry,” he told Garak, because they both knew what came next. 

“I can’t leave you,” his friend hissed.

“We have to finish the assignment.”

“Agent Dax will have my head if I try to destroy the base with you inside,” he insisted. “Again, anyway.” Julian coughed again, his entire torso shaking this time. Garak reached out, to steady him. “Don’t worry, doctor, I doubt they managed to capture Agent Worf as well- he’s probably making his way down right now in an attempt to save us instead of finding the codes we came here to find-”

“Garak,” Julian grabbed his hand. “No one’s coming for us this time. Just _go.”_

The other agent stopped and just stared at their fingers interlacing as their palms touched. They were both stained red, with Julian’s blood, and black from the dirt. 

For a moment, Garak’s impenetrable mask broke, and he’d looked genuinely pained. 

Julian squeezed his friend’s hand. “I’ll be okay,” he lied.

The Orions already knew that they’d broken free from their cell. If he focused, Julian could hear them on the levels above, trying to make their way through the underground levels to find them. It might take a while, but inevitably they would.

In his blood-loss caused stupor, Julian wondered how he'd really die indeed, choking on air because of the gas or with a phaser shot to the head.

“I must admit,” Garak said softly, “It would be a proper Cardassian sacrifice.”

“Worthy of Preloc?” Julian asked. 

“Yes,” Garak replied squeezing his hand back. “But not for the reasons you think….” Julian furrowed his brows, confused. Garak looked up. “Don’t you wonder what those may be, doctor?”

“No,” Julian admitted. His blue eyes met his and for a moment, Julian felt even more breathless. “Garak?”

“As much as I dislike sentiment,” the Cardassian told him softly. “Not even I am immune to it. Especially when it comes to you, my dear," Garak leaned towards him, letting go of his hand. “Please forgive me, _Julian,_ but I will forever regret it if I don’t take my one chance to do this.” 

The agent could count the times Garak had called by his first name with the fingers of his hand.

“What are you doing?” he wheezed, as his friend came closer. “You need to go!”

“Not yet,” Garak demanded, as his hand moving to Julian’s neck. “Please, my dear, allow me this if nothing else.” And then he’d proceeded to give the doctor the best kiss of his life. Despite the blood loss and the terrible smell of the place, it had been brilliant, 10 out of 10, would repeat again.

Not that Garak would let him, of course. _“Just a mistake that held no actual meaning,”_ he’d said, as if Julian would believe him. 

Stupid, fatalistic Cardassian. 

If the agent does more moping than practicing the drink mixing skills he’ll be using for the mission, well, Intelligence can’t blame him for it.

“With all due respect, sir,” Julian had told Admiral Sisko right before he left. “I still don’t know why you’re sending me for this one.” It’s a well known fact in that the only other spy with worse social skills was the uptight Klingon.

There’s so many jokes about Julian's bedside manner for a reason.

Sisko smiled at him. “Frankly, doctor? It’s only because you’re the only one who actually has some knowledge of bartending. Your files said you spent some time working for a friend of yours in Las Vegas, after your graduation from the Academy.”

Julian frowns. “It was only three weeks.” And he hadn’t really worked for Vic so much as hid in his place from the authorities after he forgot to fail the postganglionic nerve question of his final exam.

It had been a dark period in Julian’s life, and he’d taken a lot of stupid choices, such as letting Sloan talk him into accepting his stupid offer.

“Three weeks is more than enough, for your coordination,” Sisko continues. “And you’re the only one with extensive knowledge about biomimetic compounds as well. It was the logical choice.”

Ah yes, logic. That Julian could understand it better than he did complex social interactions doesn’t mean that he enjoys it more.

Sisko turned out to be right about his coordination, though. Quark had been thoroughly impressed with him, on his first day on the Meerja Telri.

“I just might keep you around, kid,” he told him, and Julian still hadn’t known what to make of him. He looked and acted the part of greedy Ferengi capitalist, but he employed females and the hotel staff had a working union. He was related to one of the quadrant’s most infamous weapons dealers, but his brother placed regular donations to a Bajoran orphanage.

Julian did some asking around, while he scanned the hotel in-between his shifts. The staff complained about Quark’s tendency to cut as many corners as possible just for the resort to still be considered luxurious, but overall, they seemed content enough working for the guy.

“He’s an okay boss,” one of the waiters had said. “As far as Ferengi bosses go- he’ll hire anyone who can work and any female who looks good enough, but he’ll fire your ass if he catches you even just thinking about stealing something. But, he gave me a few days off when I caught a nasty stomach bug last summer.”

Nothing had come out of the scans, to Julian’s frustrations. He’d caught a couple of Klingons walking around the hotel, though. They bore the House of Duras insignias on them and carried bat'leths on their backs.

“Quark’s not so bad,” Leeta, his fellow bartender, admitted as they prepared the drinks. “But if he tries to rope you into giving him Oo-mox, you tell him no, okay, sweetie?”

Julian had blushed just a little. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he’d answered, because nothing else seemed to be working.

Truth is, the reason Julian dislikes seduction missions is because he’s no good at them. He isn’t as charming and deceitful as Garak, and he doesn’t connect with people as naturally as Jadzia does. His social skills have gotten exponentially better- he wouldn’t have lasted a day in this field otherwise- but he’s as awkward with romance as he’s always been.

Julian either comes off too strong and overeager, or he ends up sticking his metaphorical foot into his metaphorical mouth. Some targets found this endearing, but most of them didn’t know what to make of him once he’s gone through his planned script for their interaction.

Look, Julian knows his strengths. He's a good agent for a lot of the same reasons he’s a good doctor. He can make snap decisions to save someone’s life, he has a near infallible memory, he can continue to work properly under severe sleep deprivation, and he’s got an unmovable moral compass that still allows him to distance himself from the situation just enough for him to be objective. 

So you know, all of the inhuman little quirks that complicate his interpersonal relationships. The agency ordered Julian a tighter-than-necessary uniform, and he’s been leaning over counters to clean them, but it still hasn’t gone great.

Five days into the assignment, Julian's starting to think that he’ll need another approach, when the target showed up to the bar late at night.

Quark took a seat, slouching into the chair with his shoulders sloped down. Julian’s eyebrows went up. The only regular he’d gotten was that Vulcan lady who comes here just to read.

“Give me an Aldebaran whiskey sour, kid,” he said. “And make it good, I was a bartender for twelve years, so I’ll know.”

Julian knew that, of course, so he’d have to hope that his crash course on mixology had been decent enough. “A whiskey sour, coming right up.”

It was a simple drink, but the simpler ones are the hardest to make, from what Julian learned. You had to learn how to get the balance of the ingredients just right. He’d memorized an entire book of drink recipes, but even his coordination couldn’t make up for experience.

He presented Quark with a glass adorned with an orange wheel and a Taurian cherry. The Ferengi grabbed the glass and took a sip. Julian held his breath, for a second.

Quark put the glass back on the coaster, smiling. “Not bad. You could add a few less drops of lime juice, but I liked it,” Julian smiled back, but Quark looked down at the drink, the joy draining from his face again. “I just might let you mix me another one…”

Julian paused for a moment, to glance at the Ferengi. He dressed in bright colors and wild patterns, with lots of accessories, but right now, even the collar of his jacket looked like it’d seen better days.

Which means it was just the perfect moment for Lyles to strike. The bartender leaned into the counter, sounding just a little concerned and speaking with that juvenile and naïve tone of voice that Julian had grown out of years ago. “Is something wrong, sir?” he asked.

Quark dismissed him with a gesture. “Oh, nothing really, kid, just the usual problems with the law,” he said. “An individual law enforcer, in particular…”

And look, Julian might not be the best at reading social cues, but he’s an observant person. While Quark has issues with the authorities of at least thirteen separate systems, the sad look on his face isn’t that of someone who’s afraid of getting caught by them. 

If anything, Quark looks like he’s bummed out he _didn’t_ get caught. 

Interesting. Julian moves to rearranging the liquors. “Well, if it’s just a police officer that you have issues with, I’m sure you can give them the slip, sir.”

“He’s a detective, actually,” Quark said wistfully into his drink. “And I’ve been giving him the slip for years.” He took the cherry out by the stem, looking at it on his fingers. “You’ve ever found yourself attached to someone, kid, wondering why you feel like that when they can be such a pest?”

Julian almost sighed. “Yes, yes I have,” Quark glanced up at him again, and Julian elaborated. “In my previous job, I had a friend with the absolute worst taste in literature ever. I’m talking really, _really_ bad.”

Quark chuckled. “It couldn’t be worse than those Cardassian repetitive epics…”

“You’d be surprised,” he continued. “We had lunch together and he’d give me awful book after awful book, and every week, I’d show up to have lunch with him again, so we could yell at eachother about how awful the books were,” Quark took a sip of his whiskey sour, as Julian told the story. “We kept arguing about books for years. He always tore to shreds every choice I made- kept saying that all of humanity’s best writers were nothing in comparison to the trash he was making me read. I always got so offended, because he actually understood the point of the stories, but he kept being obtuse on purpose.”

Julian smiled fondly, remembering that particularly long rant Garak had given him after Julian had made him read one of the Dixon Hill novels just for shits and giggles, and then had compared it to his boring enigma tales. It had been _glorious._

“Then why did you keep having lunch with him?” Quark asked.

“I asked myself that same question,” Julian admitted, especially at the start. After the Hamlet fiasco, Garak had brought a Cardassian play of his own, with a plot so identical that Julian had gotten up and left fuming, because the bastard kept insisting that the Cardassian play was better. “Turns out I just liked arguing with him, in the end. He liked it too, so we kept doing it, although the idiot never asked me out for dinner so we could continue arguing in our quarters.”

Quark laughed, and it was genuine. Julian smirked, happy that his misadventures with Agent 00-Emotionally Repressed at least helped him with this target.

“It’s sort of like that, with my detective,” Quark told him, finally opening up. “I met him years ago, before the Dominion War,” the Ferengi chuckled “He’s basically obsessed with me- once he sneaked into my ship and followed me across time literally, you know?” Julian listened to him, leaning into the counter. “He’s also got an awful taste in general, but particularly in literature too. All he ever reads are silly pulp novels. I showed him the Vulcan Love Slave saga once, and he couldn’t appreciate the romance between T'lana, Schum, and T’Shess,” Quark scoffed. “I swear, the only thing he gets joy out of in life is his eternal pursuit for law and order. No drinking, no eating, no females, just the dreams of finally putting me in jail and the sad bucket where he sleeps.” 

Julian blinked. “He uh, sounds interesting.” And like he’s a Dominion Founder too.

“He gets me though,” Quark smiled sadly. “Like no one else has ever done.”

Julian… could really empathize with that.

And so it went for the next few days- Quark would show up when the rest of the guests had gone to sleep, and Julian would make more Aldebaran whiskey sours for him. Quark learned that Julian's talking about a Cardassian with daddy issues to rival the doctor's own, and Julian learned that Quark's talking about an actual changeling who doesn't only sleep in a bucket, but also used to live inside a broom closet with said bucket until fairly recently. There would be a lot of trash talk about their mutually terrible taste in men, yes, but mostly all they did was complain about the sad state of their love lives.

Julian had gotten close to Quark, as he mentioned in the reports, but probably not in the way that Starfleet Intelligence thinks.

“He’s not even my usual type, you know?” Julian told him once. After the third night, Julian started mixing himself drinks too, and they moved to share them on one of the tables. “I usually go for women my age. I’ve always liked intelligence, yes, my ex-fiance could run circles around me, but I never thought that having someone roast my entire fashion sense could be attractive.”

“Tell me about it, pal,” Quark groaned. It was a couple of day before the Hew-man Valentine’s Day Couples Get-away started. Everyone in the resort was stressed as hell, and so was Quark, with the knowledge that even more Klingons would be arriving at his hotel. “Odo is so boring. Like, he’s genuinely the single most insipid, unflavored person, or well, goo being I’ve ever met. His entire personality could be described by the word ‘beige’. I _hate_ beige! That's why I never wear it."

“I’ve noticed,” Julian told his new-found friend. “Is he like, handsome at least?”

“Oh, kid,” Quark lamented. “He doesn’t even know how to mimic ears properly.”

Jadzia and Garak would be here in less than 48 hours, and aside from a Bolian that kept hitting on him, Julian was no closer to figuring out who was behind the Kessar warheads than Quark was to finally getting the goo being of his dreams.

The doctor had scanned the entire hotel, and still, he had no idea where they could be hiding the warhead. He’d learned from Quark just why the Duras sisters were here from all places in the galaxy, but for this to work, Julian was going to need more information, or at least a way he could get said information.

And so, Julian Bashir took a gamble. “Hey,” he said. “I have something I have to confess.”

“If you want a promotion just because you listened to my sorrows, the answer’s still a no, pal.”

“No,” Julian shook his head. “It’s something important. Something that I can’t have anyone else at the hotel knowing.”

“I don’t think anyone on the staff will judge you just because you like your men with scales,” Quark assured him. “I mean, Leeta is dating my brother, of all people. Rom’s teeth are more crooked than my accounts-”

“No, Quark, listen,” Julian told him, serious. “My name isn’t Lyles Bahar. I’m not an actual bartender. I never was. I am actually-”

“-Agent Julian Subatoi Bashir from Starfleet Intelligence?” Quark finished for him. Julian’s entire face paled, and he nearly dropped his glass. The Ferengi laughed. “Relax, kid- I knew you were a spy almost as soon as you stepped into this hotel. You really need to encrypt your reports more, or at least scramble them better.”

Sisko was gonna have his head if he knew about this. “Thanks,” Julian deadpanned. “I’ll keep that in mind, for my next assignment.”

“You’re here for Lursa and B’etor, obviously,” Quark leaned into his chair, shaking the drink in his hand. “So this is the part where you tell me I’m also gonna get arrested, or you explain that you need my help. Which one is it, Agent Bashir?”

Julian’s eyes met the Ferengi’s eyes, and for a moment, the air was tense. 

But then Julian remembered that half of Quark’s illegal activities were to catch Detective Odo’s attention, anyway, and the agent decides that he’s actually got nothing to be scared of. 

“The second option,” Julian replied calmly. “I really _do_ need your help.”

“And what would I get in return, if I helped you?” Quark asked. Julian opened his mouth to speak, but Quark shut him up. “And don’t try to say that I’ll be doing the quadrant a huge favor, because we both know morals aren’t part of the Rules of Acquisition for a reason.” Julian curses under his breath. “The sisters intimidated me into letting them stay here, but they will also be paying me to keep my mouth shut, agent.”

“Oh, I’m sure that whatever they’re paying you won't be nearly enough to cover all the costs of all those Klingon mercenaries roaming around your beautiful resort,” Julian said, finally feeling like he’s back in his element. While seduction is an art he hasn’t mastered, he hasn’t stayed one of the agency’s top 3 spies just for nothing, despite what the ensigns seem to think. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how on edge everyone’s feeling, I doubt the smell of fresh Gagh is good for business.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Quark answered. “The hotel once had a Tribble infestation. In the worst case scenario where they refuse to leave, we’ll just fill the place with the fluffy bastards again.”

“Perhaps,” Julian continued. “But not before you actually do get arrested, and not by _my_ government. I’m here investigating the sisters because they want to use those warheads to threaten the Klingon High Council. I happen to be close friends with General Martok, you know?” 

Quark inhaled sharply, turning to him. _“The_ General Martok? The Klingon who survived three years fist-fightning Jem'Hadars in a Dominion prison camp before breaking himself free?”

“The very same,” he grinned. “He’s actually a very nice guy, but I’m sure you can imagine the things the Defense Force will do to anyone who helped the House of Duras if those warheads do get used.”

For a second, Quark was shaking.

Julian leaned forward. “It doesn’t have to be like that, though. You’ve read my reports, Quark, Starfleet Intelligence knows you’ve been cooperative. If you aid us, you will face a much lighter sentence than the sisters will.”

Quark leaned forward too. “I don’t want a sentence of any kind, agent, and I demand your protection. I don’t want to end up with my head hanging from a Klingon’s wall after this all ends.”

Julian straightened his shoulders. “I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. As for no sentence…”

They argued the terms of getting Quark to help him for the rest of the night. The Ferengi even pulled out a contract at one point. The agency had warned Julian about it, and had given him permission to accept any terms that weren’t completely unreasonable. Still, Julian read the entire thing three times, just to be sure.

Quark rolled his eyes, after Julian finally signed the thing. “Really, agent, is like you don’t trust Ferengis.”

Julian gave him a look. “One of my friends would say that not trusting anyone is the best policy.”

Quark smirked. “Why do I get a feeling that this was also your Cardassian friend?”

“Don’t make me regret this, Quark.”

“Oh, you won’t,” he reassured him. “I want those crazy women in jail and those weapons as far away from my hotel as much as you do. But…”

Julian sighed. “Don’t tell me, there’s something else you want me to do?” Why isn’t he surprised?

“This is of a more personal nature, agent. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

Julian frowned. “I am _not_ sealing the deal by giving you Oo-mox!”

“As if you’d know what to do with a good pair of lobes,” Quark huffed. “No, agent, what I want from you is related to my… changeling situation.”

“Oh,” Julian blinked. “Oh well, I suppose we can still meet for drinks, if you’d like. It has been a huge relief talking to someone about it, actually,” he adds the last part, a bit embarrassed.

Quark smiled at him. “It really has been, hasn’t it? Well, I bring you what just might be the solution to our problems!” The Ferengi proceeded to explain his crazy plan to Julian, who just shook his head and disagreed, because really, pretending to date? What was this, a ridiculous spy comedy?

“We have enough to deal with just with, you know, the actual weapons of mass destruction and the foreign agent who’s not actually a Vulcan apparently?” Julian would never have suspected T’Paj!

“Just think about it,” Quark said. “If your Cardassian is anything like mine was, he’ll go mad with jealousy. I know my changeling will.” Julian gave him a look. “No, it’s the truth. You should have seen him when my fling with Grilka started- he was convinced she was going to sell me out to her enemies.”

“That’s what she did, Quark.”

“Yes, but not because she wanted to,” Quark corrected. “What a woman… But, she’s not here anymore, so I guess you’ll have to do. You pretended to be a pretty competent bartender, I’m sure you can pretend to be in love with me.”

Julian turned to him. “You think I’m a competent bartender?”

“Yes, but don’t let it go to your head,” he said. “And you really should read the Vulcan Love Slave series, since it’ll be awhile before your partners arrive. It is the best piece of Ferengi literature, I swear.”

Julian sighed. “I… will think about it.” 

Now, that couple of days later with both Julian's Cardassian and Quark’s Changeling in the hotel, the agent was indeed forced to rethink his opinions on some matters.

Quark is on their usual table already, having made himself a whiskey sour, because Agent Bashir never really did get the lemon to bourbon ratio correct.

“What took you so long?” the Ferengi asks, as the tired and angry hew-man makes his way into the bar. “Did you tell your partners about the base?”

“I did, and they want to meet with you,” Bashir replies very annoted, shaking the last of the sand off his trousers. He’d slipped on the last few steps down- he’d probably be picking grains out of his pants for the rest of the weekend, goddammit. “And there’s something else.”

Quark looks at him. “What is it?”

“Your crazy plan,” Bashir tells him, determined. “I changed my mind."

The Ferengi smiles. “I was sure you’d come around, agent…”


End file.
